All eighteen years of my life, I have been a perfectionist. Perfectionism is so natural to me that I cannot remember a time when I was not a perfectionist. Coincidentally, most of the people around me, family, friends, and classmates, are also perfectionists, so I am continuously surrounded by this unyielding, stressful, yet satisfying, search for perfection. In fact, I am so used to this atmosphere that perfectionism is known to me as “the pursuit”: natural and self-explanatory. This makes me forget that there are people who do not understand perfectionism – whose lives do not revolve around this idea. To them, perfectionism is just some vain chase after an unreachable idea. A common opinion is that perfectionists pursue perfect products. However, this is an opinion that I cannot agree with. To me, a perfectionist pursues the process of becoming perfect, rather than the mere products of it.

To begin with, let me describe what perfectionism “feels” like – that is, how I feel during my pursuit of perfection. Imagine that you are hanging on to a tree on the edge of a cliff. Some observers tell you that the drop is shallow, that you should let go, that you will land safely. Will you believe them and let go of the branch? I believe most of you will not. Instead, you will do the opposite: you will grasp onto that tree branch tightly because in your mind, an abyss is waiting for you below. I chase perfection the way you cling to that precious tree – as if a tiny drop away from perfection will “kill” me. I cannot grasp the idea that defects are fine, so I chase tirelessly after perfection. Similarly, I can also be told by observers that my work is excellent, only to disbelieve them and continue my pursuit.

Despite my stubbornness, even I know that perfection is impossible, so why do I keep chasing this seemingly “vain” goal? The reason is that I obtain peace of mind from the process of perfecting, not from perfection itself. In order to be satisfied, I must be allowed to chase perfection in all possible ways, until I am exhausted.

When I was in seventh grade, I had an art project that required me to draw a “still life” with different shades of grey. Determined to not be limited by the lack of colors, I began my journey through lines, shapes, tints, and shades – a journey to perfection. I drew and redrew the outline of the subject, sometimes straighter and sometimes curvier, so I could match it better with the actual objects. Occasionally, I would stop, hold my picture up next to the objects, and compare them. Dissatisfied, I would resume my alterations. I was absorbed by this enjoyable adventure until the bell rang. As my classmates prepared to leave, I sat in my seat and traced the contour of my drawing silently. My fingertip brushed past the smooth, almost-perfect lines. “I spent twenty minutes on this one line!” I thought. Then my fingertip touched the rough, not-so-perfect lines. “Oh, I erased this one over ten times! It just didn’t look right,” I smiled to myself as I contemplated.

“What’s the difference?” a voice interrupted my meditation. I turned my head, and saw one of my classmates staring at me. “What’s the difference,” he continued, “between your picture now and your picture – like – before those fifty changes?” I was confused, as I thought it was obvious.

“Well … it’s more perfect now.”
“No, it’s not!” he screamed. He looked like he had just seen a cow gave birth to a cat. “There’s no difference!” he repeated.

I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

“It doesn’t have to show a difference,” my teacher intervened, “so long as Ranee enjoyed the process.” She gave me a profound look before she turned to my classmate, “Now it’s time for you to clean up, Austin.”
My classmate murmured something like “There is no difference” as he walked away. My teacher patted me on the head and left as well.

I turned, and picked up my picture. “I can see the difference,” I said quietly. I resumed my tracing. “I can see how it was getting closer and closer to perfection,” I said, though no one was listening, “through my effort.” I smiled as satisfaction sank into my heart.

However, during most of my pursuits, the process is not as enjoyable as this particular instance, but instead, is usually stressful and even desperate. Night after night, I often sit in my room and spend hours on my essays. In fact, I am experiencing one of those nights right now, as I write this essay. In nights like these, I read my sentences over and over again, ponder over each and every word, and wonder if I can make them more effective. In nights like these, I feel desperation squeeze my heart, not because of my grade, but because of my fear that I cannot improve my essay any further. In nights like these, I sometimes cry and pray to God to give me more talent – just a little more talent so I can make my essay a little better. At the end of nights like these, I read the final draft, regardless of how “perfect” it is, and am simply satisfied with the notion that I have exhausted all my abilities to improve it.

This is a strange feeling, I know, to those who never set their mind on perfection. That is why I began with the tree analogy. For the person dangling over the cliff, holding on to the branch cannot bring safety; in reality, releasing the branch would allow the person to land safely. Thus, that little piece of wood does not actually provide safety, but instead, gives a sense of safety. The dangling person values this comfort even more than actual safety (releasing the branch and landing on solid ground a couple of feet down). This same principle works for perfectionism. I know that perfection is unreachable. I know that my attempts often give me more burdens than relief. Yet I cannot let go of this pursuit, because of that little sense of satisfaction. I cannot tell you where this feeling comes from, nor can I say that perfectionism provides me with pure joy. However, I argue that satisfaction, no matter how small it is, is always present in the process, not the product, of pursuing perfection. I am not satisfied because I reached perfection – I never will be – but I am satisfied because I reached out and strived for it. To me, that process is perfectionism, regardless of the outcome.

Some will argue that when I change my work over and over again, the change is subtle and insignificant. Why, they wonder, is it even worth my time, if my focus is on the process, not the product itself? I understand this viewpoint. From a practical standpoint, why would someone spend so much effort on a product if it isn’t even his or her main goal? However, my opinion is that perfectionism is not a practical view. If it were, I would be satisfied when a product is “good enough”, since that would be practical. Instead, perfectionism is a mental pursuit – almost to the point of obsession.

The satisfaction associated with perfectionism cannot be measured in a physical way; it must be evaluated through an emotional perspective. I cannot be satisfied by a physical product because it will never reach the level of perfection that I seek. However, I can, and do, take pleasure in the belief that I am getting “closer and closer” to perfection with each of my attempts, until advancement is no longer possible. In other words, I take pleasure in the process of getting to, instead of actually arriving at, that impossible destination.