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David McElroy

making sense of a dysfunctional culture

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Flawed bricks can build our lives, because perfection never arrives

By David McElroy · November 16, 2017

For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with the need to be perfect.

I didn’t always call it that, though. Others accused me of being a perfectionist and I was honestly confused by the label. My life was anything but perfect, so how could anyone accuse me of that?

Eventually, I came to understand that my life was horribly imperfect — in an unhealthy way — because I felt such guilt about not being perfect. I allowed major chunks of my life to become wrecks simply because I was so afraid of not being perfect that something in me went in the opposite direction. If I couldn’t be perfect at something, I didn’t do it. The perverse inner logic seemed to be that if I didn’t even try, I hadn’t failed. I simply hadn’t cared enough to try.

I understand now where that guilt about being imperfect came from, but that’s not my concern here. I’m more interested in something I’ve seen in myself lately — some indications that maybe I’m starting to get past this lifelong struggle.

If I couldn’t have exactly what I wanted or if I couldn’t achieve exactly what I thought I should do, I have always been paralyzed. I wasn’t capable of pursuing a second choice. I wasn’t capable of doing whatever was achievable in the moment and then finding the next step later.

I had to perform perfectly the first time — or not at all.

That has had perverse effects. When I know I want or need something in my life, I either get what I want or I take nothing at all. I allow myself to suffer — financially and in other ways — if I can’t do exactly what I set my mind on.

If I want to make films, I have to make a great film — one that is artistically beyond what I’m currently capable of and beyond my ability to raise the money for. I can’t do something which others might see as imperfect. Even worse, I can’t do what I know is imperfect.

If I want to make money and buy the things I want in life, I have to have limitless success. I have preferred to wait for perfection every time — struggling in the meantime at a ridiculous level for the last five or six years, for instance — instead of doing something less than brilliant and less than impressive and less than amazing. I couldn’t do something ordinary.

If I couldn’t have the house I wanted — of the right design, with the right furnishings, kept clean and perfect — I have preferred not to even try. I’ve preferred to live in a dump that I didn’t clean, because I knew I couldn’t be perfect about it.

Lately, I have experienced something that gives me hope, though. I don’t know if I can be clear about what’s going on.

I’ve started allowing myself to fix small things in my life. I’ve been allowing myself to chew off small bites of big problems — instead of letting the problem sit unsolved until I had the perfect solution. I’ve known intellectually that this is the way to approach such things, but I’ve been able to start doing some of that lately. Some of the examples I’ve seen are so small they’re hard to explain.

I have always felt tremendous inner anxiety and pressure about not being perfect. I’ve felt tremendous guilt when my world wasn’t perfect. Lately, though, I have been able to calm that anxiety — by letting myself do whatever small bit I could in a given moment toward fixing a problem. I’ve been able to allow myself to do a little bit and then say to myself, “I’ve done what I can do for right now. That’s enough until later.”

By doing this, I’ve started to fix some things. Some big things, some small things.

Soon, I’ll be sharing with you one of those big things. It’s not really a big thing in the grand scheme of life, but it’s a big step toward a middle ground for me — a middle ground that might set me up for moving toward something bigger later.

It’s not a perfect solution. It’s not something I’ve wanted to do. It’s not something that gets me where I want to go in the long term. In other words, it’s not perfect.

But it is something that can make the sort of income to give me the freedom to pursue the things I care about in the long term. It’s scary because it’s not perfect.

I’ve wanted to build something for a long time, but I’ve just thought about building it. I’ve thought about perfect plans. I’ve looked for perfect bricks. I’ve tried to figure out how to be perfectly skilled in building from the first attempt.

As a result, I’ve built nothing — waiting for perfection to show up.

I’m doing something right now that is terribly imperfect. I don’t have a perfect plan. I don’t have perfect bricks. I barely know what I’m doing. The bricks are crooked. The mortar isn’t smooth.

But I’m laying the foundation for something I’ve needed to build.

And it has me thinking that my imperfect project is better than perfection that never comes.

I can do whatever I want in life without a perfect plan. I can build with imperfect bricks and I can learn as I go, even if I have to backtrack and fix some things.

Sometimes we have to accept flawed bricks.

Flawed plans and skills.

Flawed results that have to be fixed later.

Flawed people who have to grow and correct their mistakes with us.

I still wish I could be perfect, but I don’t know how to be. I still feel a deep sense of shame about not being perfect. I still feel a deep sense of shame about wasting my talents and the possibilities I’ve had. I still feel guilty for not having all I think I should have and for not having done all I think I should have done.

But I’m starting to chip away at it, bit by bit.

I’m starting to build a wall of my first building. It won’t be a perfect wall. It won’t be a perfect building. It’s not a perfect plan.

But it will get built. And the next one will be better. Then maybe someone will help me make something even better. I can learn. I can grow. Maybe I can still even do something great.

But it’s possible only if I pursue something today that’s imperfect. This is hard for me, but I hope it will eventually bring me to a place and a person and a goal that will make it all worth it.

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On a live awards show Sunday night, one man made a joke about a female celebrity. The husband of the celebrity was offended and hit the man who made the joke. Or maybe it was staged for entertainment. Who knows? Who cares? Social media is full of discussion — and even arguments — about this idiocy today. This baffles me. Let’s assume for a moment that the event happened as reported. People have been having such idiotic fights ever since there have been humans. Half the bars in the world see such brief dustups regularly. It simply doesn’t matter. The fact that so many people believe they need to talk about this — or even need to have opinions about it — is more evidence of the bizarre media brainwashing that convinces many to care passionately about brain-dead trivia. Your life will be happier and saner if you focus on yourself, your family and your friends, not on whatever scripted (or spontaneous) bilge that the media wants to pipe into your home.

I’m in the middle of migrating this website to new servers this week. This means you might encounter some unexpected behavior until I get all the bugs worked out. Clicking on my links (including this one) might cause your browser to give you the message that it’s a site without a current security certificate. It’s not actually unsafe, but there’s something which isn’t yet set up for the security certificate. I apologize for any such errors you might encounter while the process is going on. If you notice any problems with content which didn’t migrate properly, I would appreciate you letting me know the details at davidmcelroy@mac.com. Thanks for your patience.

I often wonder what animals think when they look at us and consider the society we’ve created. Yes, I know this is fanciful and unrealistic, but what if they could? Would they be astounded at how we treat each other? Would they be disgusted by the ugliness and pettiness which fill so many of our daily interactions? The truth is that I’m feeling pretty disgusted with humanity tonight. I made the mistake of reading some online interactions that I should have avoided — and it sickened me. The people involved appeared to be vile and stupid and arrogant. I wish I could pretend they’re a tiny minority, but I know better. It’s times such as this when I most need to escape much of “civilization” and disconnect from their world. If humans are going to be worthy of “ruling this planet,” we have a lot of growth to do. And I fear that growth is nowhere in sight. So my buddy Thomas, above, and all of his friends would be right to judge us harshly — and to think, “Why do you folks get to be in charge?”

I should have expected this, but I honestly didn’t. The article I wrote last week about disagreements over treatment for autistic children brought me angry emails. You could almost call it “hate mail.” Of the five emails about it so far, two have been to tell me that I’m wrong to even listen to critics of the most popular therapy for autistic children — and the other three tell me I’m wrong for not condemning the treatment as the “obvious” abuse it is. If you read the article, you know I didn’t take a position on the issue, because I simply don’t know enough to have an opinion. But by talking about the issue, I stepped into a heated controversy. The emails from the two sides convinced me of nothing. But they did give me even more empathy for the unfortunate parents who have to figure out for themselves where the truth lies for their children.

Have you ever had what you thought was a new idea — and then discovered that “old you” had the same idea years ago? I had that experience tonight. And it’s been wonderful. I came up with an idea tonight for a very short satirical film that would be a promotion for a fictitious college. The point is to make the college promote — as good things — everything which is actually terrible about most modern colleges. Then I remembered a fake college that I invented back when I was in college. I had created student recruitment brochures and various newsletters back then, so I decided to call my “new” college by the same name I’d invented years ago: Ochita College. As I searched my computer for any old material I might still have about Ochita from the past, I discovered an email I sent to someone in 2009 — outlining essentially the same idea which I came up with tonight. Since I didn’t remember writing that, it felt like magic. So my next film project just might be this one instead. If all goes well, you might soon see “Ochita College: Your Future Starts Here.” This should be fun.

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