Perfectionist was not a title I was yearning to achieve. While growing up, I learned if I did not perform a task well enough the first time, I had to go back and do it again. During my college years, while everyone was rushing through term papers just to turn something in, I was always stuck in the library late at night, pecking away on the typewriter trying to earn a decent grade, not for the grade but rather to not disappoint my parents. During my first twenty five year career, I was on the top rung with many employees and clients depending on me for their livelihood and safety. There was no room for error. I expected perfection from myself as well as my employees. Yet, I still never considered myself a perfectionist until my wife pointed this title out to me in disgust.

When working on projects around the house and the landscape, I employed the same work ethics at home as I did on the job. My wife would describe some landscape feature she wanted us to work on and I would get right to it, basically taking over her vision and turning it into my own vision. For years, I did not realize the impact or the problem I was creating in my family.

One project involved constructing a short rock wall. My son, who was 10 at the time, along with my wife had been gathering large gray stones from our woods all summer long to use and were happily envisioning the lovely wall they would construct. My wife informed me they were going to attempt to build it all by themselves. When they had collected a huge pile, they started happily erecting at one end, taking their time enjoying the process. By Saturday I was anxious to help out. I started where they had left off and rearranged some of their work to my personal specifications. I was moving right along when I noticed both of them had disappeared. When I went inside for a break, my son was in his room and my wife was livid. She informed me I had taken the entire joy out of this project as I always do. She described how each time my son placed a rock, I had moved it to replace with a more suitable one. She then described the hurt she witnessed on my son's face. Without a word to me, she took my son's hand and lead him quickly away and explained they would just let me finish as they had done all the hard work by gathering the stones to start with. She tried to smooth it over by saying I needed to sweat some. I felt like such a jerk, but it made me realize that perfection is also a downside of life.

The company I worked for dissolved when the owners went bankrupt. I am now employed in a position where I am not required to be a perfectionist. No one is under me and depending on me for safety or livelihood. It has been a personal internal struggle to change my way of thinking, but if and when I begin being anal about a perfect outcome, my wife reminds me of the rock wall and I quickly chill out. There is nothing wrong with trying to do a job correctly, but demanding perfection with every single thing in your life can have a negative impact on yourself and those around you.

Learn more about this author, Madison Briggs.
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