I’ve always believed it was my job to fix the world. To make everything perfect.
I never actually said that. I didn’t even consciously think it. But I walked through the world feeling a sort of panic — a desperation to fix things — that most people never experience.
Looking back, it’s obvious now where that fear came from. As I was growing up, my narcissistic father held me responsible for being perfect. I was punished for any deviation from what he thought was right and good. And he constantly judged everybody and everything around me.
Behind their backs, he ridiculed people who did things incorrectly. If he saw a public mistake — a timing error on a live television show or a typo in a newspaper, for instance — he used to tell me that someone must have been fired for the mistake. And I believed him.
I’m still afraid of my own imperfection. I still feel panic when I see others’ mistakes. After all these years, there’s still a nagging feeling inside that I have to fix everything — or else I’ll be punished.

A reminder to friends of liberty: Others don’t understand our beliefs
If president can just ignore laws, what’s the purpose of having laws?
You’re not going to understand me as I want to be understood
I’ve been sent to Facebook jail — and nothing about it makes sense
Intelligent, well-meaning people often pull in opposite directions
The gifts we give children shape them and reveal what we expect of them
Black Friday orgy of consumerism makes me very uncomfortable
No, Rodney King, people in this country can’t just ‘all get along’