Perfectionism is just fear in really good shoes. –Elizabeth Gilbert
I’ve been thinking lately about the idea of safety. What it means to me, whether or not I have it, why it can feel so elusive.
Safety, like so many words, is so nuanced and contextual that it’s almost meaningless as a stand-alone idea. Are we talking about physical safety? Emotional safety? Both? Or are we talking about something more subtle, more like a sense of security or a predictor of future success? Safety can mean all of those things, yet as I think it tends to be used a proxy for certainty: A clue about what’s around the next bend. Safety is about mitigating risk and the general murkiness of life and love.
Historically, I respond to this pressure through a combination of careful planning and the reading of “signs”. I look for evidence that things are on the right track–or the wrong track–and then I adjust my strategy accordingly. This technique is exhausting and by no means sure-fire. The weakness in this approach is obvious: If your attention lapses for even a moment, you might miss that critical sign that something has shifted and fail to respond accordingly. No wonder words like “perfectionistic” and “intense” and “uptight” have been applied to me over the years.
The problem is, it’s hard to stop. For one thing, perfection is rewarded in our society. For another thing, it provides the illusion of control. Besides, who doesn’t want some kind of indicator that things will go smoothly, or will improve, or at the very least, won’t get worse? We all want that. And if you observe what other people talk about, it’s an interesting window into their fears and insecurities.
That mother who is so sure that her three year old is a gifted athlete? Maybe she’s worried about how to pay for college and she’s looking for a “sign” that her kid will get a scholarship. The woman at work who is always talking about how talented and valuable she is? Maybe hearing herself say it makes her feel a bit more secure in her job. Or how about the woman who sanctimoniously points out that a murdered college female should never have been out alone after leaving a bar? Maybe she needs to create that distance so that she feels like her own college-aged daughter would never be victimized.
While these examples might be easy to recognize in other people, when it comes to our own lives, it’s hard to put the breaks on. When I hear of a couple divorcing, I can’t help but observe the ways that my own marriage is different–and thus, hopefully, immune to divorce. When my daughter brings home a good report card, I breathe a sigh of relief because I secretly fear that, like her mother, she’ll lack focus in high school and find herself with limited options for college.
It’s a case of trying to dot every “i” and cross every “t” and what underlies the urge to do this is fear. Fear of things going wrong; fear of crisis; fear of heartbreak; fear of disappointment; fear of things not going as planned. Deep down, I know I’m looking for guarantees. For safety.
Maybe it’s time to change my definition of safety–and of perfection, for that matter. Safety doesn’t mean that bad things won’t happen. Perfection doesn’t mean nothing ever goes wrong. At times, I’ll be disappointed; I won’t always get what I want. I’ll be hurt by someone; I’ll feel vulnerable. Safety is less about what happens to us and more about our response to whatever comes our way. Perfection, ironically, isn’t perfect.
In yoga today, the instructor urged us to be the “observer” in our practice. To notice any discomfort we might experience in a pose while still recognizing that we aren’t, ourselves, the agent of discomfort. To notice that the feeling passes or subsides as we hold the posture. In yoga, the perfect pose doesn’t mean it’s free of discomfort or effort, nor does it mean we’re doing the “final” pose in it’s most advanced form. Perfectionism is a byproduct of fear; perfection has no end-game.
It is possible to find safety in the midst of uncertainty and imperfection. In fact, it’s the only kind of safety that exists since certainty and perfection belong in the realm of make believe, like unicorns and fairy tales.