Why Perfect Kills Creativity

So Be Sloppy

I'm a lifelong perfectionist. In school if an essay wasn't proof-read 7 times and absolutely fine-tuned, I wouldn't turn it in. If I couldn't get a project to look just so, I'd scrap the whole thing and do something half as ambitious. I've let closets become over-run dumping grounds, because I didn't have the time to pull it all out, decanter everything into pretty labeled bins, and come up with clever aesthetic solutions.

If there wasn't a perfect answer, I just ignored it. After all, putting effort into something that didn't come out perfect, meant that I had failed in some way.

The reality, that took me years (decades) to figure out, is that the only way to fail is to not try at all.

A functional closet is always worth having, even if it's not show-room worthy. An essay with spelling errors is worth way more points on your grade than taking a zero. Anything worth doing, is worth doing half-way.

And the same applies to your individual creative pursuits.

Our minds are spoon fed a scroll of perfect moments. A lovely view, a perfectly appointed room. A painstakingly created dish. So we shove the mess out of frame and strike a pose, making sure everyone thinks our lives are just as perfect as their (also curated) lives appear to be. Even when people are being "real", it somehow comes off as charmingly self-depreciating. Perfect with a touch of humorous humility.

In reality, that casual speech while they sew a project? It was the 8th take. The project took a week longer than planned, and the back is pinned in place because it was accidentally too big. The things that intimidate you with their perfection? They are carefully curated, edited, and reviewed before being presented.

Have you ever picked up a pencil or paintbrush and sat, frozen, staring at your page? You can see exactly how it should look. A stretching landscape. Overgrown grass, charmingly dotted with wildflowers. The log fence running through the field has a broken post, tilted oddly to the side. In the distance a weeping willow tree bends, dramatic foliage lifting lightly in the breeze. The clouds are wispy and tinged with pink, cotton candy strung across the sky.

But you're frozen. What if you can't capture the moment perfectly? How would you even get the clouds to look like that? So maybe you set down your tools, and walk away.

Sometimes you might go for it. You start with broad strokes. The green isn't quite right. Your fence post is a little too warped. The clouds take on an ominous aura. It isn't what you pictured, so you throw it away. Hide it in a closet, and forget it was ever there.

You never share it with anyone. Your notebook full of ideas, the business you want to start, the jewelry you want to make, the wild story you tell yourself as you fall asleep. Because it's never quite "ready". Because you aren't "good enough" at it.

Because it's scary.

I wrote a poem about this feeling, and it sat, forgotten and unshared in a notebook, for years. A few years ago, in a fit of confidence, I recorded myself reading it and slapped it online.

I didn't edit it. I didn't record it again. It was just an OK take. It didn't go viral.

But it felt so GOOD to get it out. Like I'd finally released something of myself. Like letting a little steam out of a pressure cooker.

It's not lost on me that I wrote a piece about creative vulnerability, hid it for years, finally shared it, then went back into hiding when it didn't do very well.

I've written, recorded, created, painted, SO MUCH. All of it is still hiding. And I've stopped myself from creating even more than that. Why? Because it's not or won't be perfect. It's not great. The first draft would never be ready for publishing, and even once it is, I can't bear to have it exposed and criticized and perceived, because then everyone will know it's not perfect.

And so what?

It doesn't need to be perfect! Perfection is an impossible and a silly standard. In my pursuit of the "perfect" story, I've kept myself from following my dreams of writing and publishing a novel. I've shoved my poetry into drawers. I've turned down opportunities and downplayed my goals.

I haven't been trying.

So, I'm throwing caution (and fear) to the wind. It's time to, in the words of the indomitable Ms. Frizzle, "Take chances, make mistakes, and get messy." I'm going to paint stupid pictures. I'm going to write bad stories. I'm going to move my body and dance and if someone laughs at my discoordination then I'll have the joy of not caring about their perception of me. Because the music will be in my veins and I'll be creating wind in my hair and my limbs will be brewing magic. Who has need for perfection when you can be so deliciously sloppy?

Being a human is a very haphazard experience. We are meant to make mistakes and learn and grow. If you're stifling yourself creatively, for fear of making a mistake, then you'll never grow the way you're meant to.

So jump off that creative cliff, and trust that the fall will be a thrill. Paint a tree with purple bark, and get the paint all over. Write a story about zombies on the moon and send it to your friends, as a surprise gift in the mail. Sing a song as loudly as you want, and who cares if you don't hit all the notes? Just let yourself experience it.

The only way to do it wrong, is to criticize yourself while doing it.

The only way to fail, is to not try at all.

The only way to find your perfect, is to get SLOPPY first.