Perfectionism
Today I turned in a lab report I hadn’t proofread* and which I knew to be in the wrong format. This unsettles me. It’s one thing to make an honest mistake or to forget something, but to turn in work I know is incorrectly presented? Disgusting.
I can’t stand to hand over something I haven’t thoroughly proofed because I don’t feel like I can “own” it. If I’ve worked carefully, then any errors that remain are actual misunderstandings or inadequacies on my part. It horrifies me to think that there might be typos, awkward sentences, or factual errors in that report that I would’ve spotted and fixed had I seen them because oh my god what if she thinks I really meant that?
Do I care what my professors think of me? Absolutely. Do I judge other people by the work they present? ALL THE TIME.
I titled this post “Perfectionism” out of a lack of imagination, but I don’t think of it that way. I call it “doing quality work.” If things can be correct and done well, then they should. Duh. Sloppiness is unacceptable.
The wrinkle in this worldview is that old bugaboo Time. In my ideal world there would be time enough to do everything perfectly, to enjoy the work and take pleasure in doing something properly. The disheartening fact that my life is finite** means that I don’t have time to do everything, go everywhere, meet everyone, read every book, explore every topic—I have to settle for doing very few things well, some things sloppily and many, many things not at all.
I think I had more to say, but I literally cannot stay awake*** and have fallen asleep sitting up three four times so far while trying to finish this.
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* Of course I read through the report before I hit ‘print,’ but because I was pressed for time (it was absolutely no-more-chances due today) I didn’t sit down and take a pen (and some serious thought) to it.
** The central, overwhelming crisis of my psyche for the last couple years and the last six months especially, if you’re new here.
*** Why can’t I go to bed on time? I was on my way to bed two hours ago, but then there was just one more thing, and one more, and one more, and now this. Really going after I post this, I swear.