Perfection

Attempting perfection is worth more than achieving perfection. It's the effort that counts.

(A personal pep-talk for myself)

In my life I've found that I've always had this odd preoccupation with "perfection". Not in the conventional sense of perfection in everything I do (because truth be told, I'm oddly attracted to flaws), but rather perfection in the direction I want my life to take. I guess "perfection" is not the right word to describe what I'm looking for - maybe I'm not that good at writing as I think I am. How can I explain it properly? When I was younger, I'd chart out my week by breaking it down into little bits and pieces and have a rating system down next to each bit and piece. Then, I'd cumulatively sum the score and  and rate the day as a whole based on the scores for each bit and piece: was it an amazing day?, an ok day?, a day which fell below my projections? I actually felt fulfilled in making these timetables, and a lot more satisfaction in checking it off at the end of the day. I still make these sort of lists in my 20's, primarily concerned with those areas of my life that need structuring: my writing, my studying, my Hebrew, my Jewish studies, my eating, my exercising, my smoking; but it was in those early years that my list-making compulsion bordered on the somewhat... obsessive.

It's not the list-making that I want to write about tonight: it's this penchant for wanting to compartmentalise all the various aspects and areas of my life, and, thus be able to ascertain whether or not I'm succeeding in where I want to be in life, where I want to go. It's a sort of control mechanism, and over the years I've come to realise that in trying to structure things - while it does bring me a great amount of satisfactory joy - I'm never exactly able to reach the lofty, albeit daily, goals I set for myself.

I'm not an unhappy person in the micro-sense of the word. But when I step out of myself and look at everything from the point of view of the big picture, it can and does make me worried and somewhat... afraid, simply because I hardly ever achieve what I want to achieve. It's a matter of discipline, of inspiration, of dedication, of motivation, of focus - and the sad thing is, it's so easy for me to lose all of these sources. I'm so easily distracted. So were I as fastidious as I used to be in my childhood, I'd probably be rating each day as highly unfulfilled. It's a sad truth, but it's a truth - one I must come to terms with and accept, and even more importantly, try to change.

I have to understand that if I falter in one minute, it doesn't matter. The upcoming minute is a fresh new start. There is no need to throw the towel in on everything if one tiny bit is compromised. Just dust yourself off, Nick, and try again. When I look back on all my days, as separate composites within a greater whole, I realise that the days where I at least try, are the days where I can, in hindsight, feel proud.

Take writing for instance. I've divided this wide area into four distinct groupings: working on my book, blogging, writing in my diary, and writing articles. In the past 48 hours, I've managed to do three out of the four. Awesome check next to those three, resulting in a cumulative score of awesome, resulting in a very happy Nick.

I'm not sure what the purpose of this particular blog is: is it about my quest for daily and overall "perfection" (for want of a much better word), or is it about my weird compulsive trait of listing and comparing and determining results? Perhaps it's a bit of both. I'm probably always going to be making lists and resolving to be better in the next minute/hour/day/week/month, and I'm probably always going to falter in achieving these goals I set, but I've got to try. My parents are both quite organised people, and I suppose this desire to structure my life is a genetic boon (or flaw, depending upon how you look at it), but the attempt to accomplish my targets is a struggle I'm going to have to embrace. It's the attempt that counts, right? 

In the past few days, in re-reading the current manuscript I'm working on, I'm finding the writing not as up to par as I thought it was ten months ago. Have I grown in that time? Have I progressed as a writer such that I'm no longer satisfied with what was considered "perfection" back then? I know that in writing, it makes no sense to continuously and endlessly edit, because I'm always going to find errors and find things I want to change, link, develop, omit, add. I know there will come a time when I'll have to say "Ok! This is it! Time to get a move on with literary agents, etc.", but I don't think this is what's going on right now. I've ignored my manuscript for the past few months - perhaps on purpose, but I'm not ashamed to throw in the possibility that it was sheer lack of motivation which led to the aforementioned abandonment - and this current re-reading isn't leaving me a very happy camper. True, yesterday wasn't a very good day for me, as my sleep cycle had been wack (as usual; this is another area of my life which is in desperate - extremely desperate! - need of fixing), so maybe that's why I thought my writing wasn't very good, but I'm also reading V.S Naipaul's Among the believers and I can compare the two styles, and, truth be told, my writing isn't even near his level. And the thing is, and I'm not being egotistical here, I know I have the talent and ability to write with comparable flair. Yes, there were bits of my manuscript which still stood out as "perfection" but so many others are leaving the "imperfect" aftertaste in my mouth... I don't think I'm being too harsh.

Writing is an art form, it's a skill, and like any creative subject, it needs practice to be properly honed and perfected. The writer of today is going to be a vastly different writer in a year, or two, and even more vastly different in a decade. Creativity is never going to be the same, and the artist will forever be growing and moving upwards.

I admit, in my weird quest for perfection, in the past few hours, I've thought about abandoning my manuscript and starting on something else. But that's what I've done all my life. When "perfection" hasn't been achieved, I give up and let go and wait for another time to try again. I can't do that now, can I? I've nursed this story for so long (granted, I haven't really put enough time into it, and, in hindsight, I haven't truly dug deep and can go a whole lot deeper), so why do that? It's time to just do it. Just do it, Nick. Just stop being lazy, just find the motivation, just dig deep and do it.

Attempt.

Then, when I look back next week, I can feel fulfilled; even if I didn't exactly reach my targeted mark for the week, I can, at least, have that feeling of satisfaction of knowing: at least you attempted.

And who knows, maybe I might succeed.

So the goals will be set (as per usual), but I'm going to make the effort after setting the goals - I'm going to try.