I haven’t written a Substack in about 6 weeks. My rate of writing and releasing them into the world is slow. I am, I’m coming to realise, a perfectionist & I am trying to learn that attempting perfection doesn’t protect you from feeling vulnerable or exposed or hurt or silly. It is just another way to obfuscate and deflect your true feelings, mainly from yourself. Which of course, doesn’t actually work or help you feel happier or more fulfilled, it just stops you from being able to do anything.
In the time since my last post I’ve almost finished about four posts. One on coming home from a festival to my housemates in the garden - exploring the feeling of home and place & safety. I wrote another on the anniversary of my grandmothers death in August, and another (part two) about loneliness/solitude. And I haven’t posted them. For some reason I lost my flow and my faith in myself, and I didn’t want my intimate feelings to be out and about in the world. I’ve also found that If you don’t post a substack when you write it, the moment seems to pass and they lose their potency/relevance/immediacy/vitality.
I spent many years not finishing any music because of a deep seated fear of making something less than perfect. And the incapacitating fear of the judgement of others. And the fear of making something that didn’t fully encapsulate everything I wanted to make. That the thing I made would define me and then I would be stuck with it. That it was singular and definitive and un-take-back-able. That it would be who I was. Which is high drama, but I do think this is probably a fear shared by most people in some part of their lives. Maybe not though lol.
This self imposed pressure over the years built up into a sense that the thing I did eventually make (because it seemed inevitable that I would, even though I couldn’t seem to) had to be ‘perfect’. Even though i would talk until I was blue in the face to my friends about how corrosive the notion of perfection was. It’s often seemingly impossible to apply to logic or advice you dole out to others to yourself. This is all obvious stuff but it feels helpful to write it down. Anyway after many years I managed to finish something and begin the process of healing that divide within myself. It felt extremely cathartic in many ways but also deeply exposing. I am glad and grateful for it & for the ongoing process. It is healing in itself.
A quote that keeps coming back to me is ‘perfection is the enemy of the good’. I know that it’s true when I turn the sentence over in my mind. Sometimes I forget it but sometimes, when I can, I repeat it like a mantra and I carry on doing stuff.
I could write forever about how the concept of perfection can ruin almost everything in your life & the way you move through it. In my experience so far I have felt it acutely in relation to:
Body image
Intellect
Artistic output
Relationships
+ much more.
It can feel like a protective layer to never show anything you have made or try anything incase you ‘fail’ (read as - do not achieve the impossible: perfection), but holding yourself to an impossible standard of perfection categorically does not make your life better. It doesn’t make the things you create or the relationships you have better either. It makes them more self conscious, it means you are not acting from a place of instinct or unbiased impulse. It makes you self conscious and I don’t think that self consciousness is a good starting point for many nourishing things. Self awareness maybe, but that’s definitely something entirely different.
I remember reading a sentiment in a book that rocked me and confirmed the pervasive, slightly paranoid and insecure thoughts I often have about releasing anything I have made into the world. I can’t remember it word for word but the idea was “if you want to feel better about yourself, be happy when your enemy writes a book” - I’ve totally butchered that but I guess the core of that is, to try is to fail, to put something concrete into the world and to say “here is what I made” opens you up to ridicule and scrutiny. And judgement.
It is inevitable that people will have opinions on your work, and that people you care about may not think what you make is good. Knowing this is painful. It touches on what we are all exploring as we move through life in a myriad of ways— the desire to be seen, the fear that we will be misunderstood, the fear that somebody will interpret what we have offered up in a way that we didn’t intend. Or worse, that they will ‘correctly’ interpret it and not find value in it. The child in us who wants to be wholly understood is desperately seeking affirmation.
This extends into all things, including the fear of feeling things/saying you feel them which of course boils down to a fear of vulnerability. I am trying to get better at feeling what I feel, not suppressing, not shutting down in the name of saving face. It feels healthier than constantly just saying I’m fine and swallowing my feelings/pretending that I don’t have any. I have lots of feelings.
I’m ready to put my hands up and say “I don’t care if I’m not perfect, I accept it” and “not everyone will like what I do, it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t do it if I want to” and “I am willing to try and fail and to know that this is not embarrassing”, etc. It feels important. Maybe some people learn this lesson when they are a lot younger but I do tend to take my time with these things.
This is definitely a cliche but I am beginning, tentatively to understand that the validation can only come from within. You can get many positive words that do not touch the sides of your insecurity, whatever it is pertaining to. It is, annoyingly, internal work.
I am trying to remember that you do not have to be perfect to exist in the world, or to make things, or to be loved and to love.
There’s so much more to say. I’m tired and a little angry today but there is so much to be glad for. Including, but not limited to:
Apples and pears in the garden. Walking in the cemetery as often as I can- helpful for calm, quiet and perspective - which makes me think of Spinal Tap- “too much perspective” . The young foxes that sleep in our garden and eat the windfall pears. Lime biking around South East London (i know, and i don’t care, you get where you want to so fast and whilst feeling so free). Glorious housemates. Swimming at the Isle of Dogs and lying like a lizard on the rocks eating tangerines. Making fig leaf oil. Fire pits at the bottom of the garden. Gigs that feel good. Reconnecting with old friends. Best friends birthdays with cake and rain and singing happy birthday. Sleep, when it comes.
I can’t seem to read at the moment but I’m sure it will pass. I am excited for Autumn for the first time in a long time I am not feeling dread about it’s onset. I want galleries and stews and bonfires and frosty walks and I am going to knit again. Maybe I’ll finally learn how to make a jumper.