Is Lifestyle Design A Manifestation of Perfectionism In Disguise? A Self-Reflection
They say that the grass is always greener on the other side. Normally, I’d refute this, proclaim it an illusion, and instead promote some other tired, overused, pink, frilly powder puff version of ”seize the day,” “be grateful for what you have,” or, my personal favorite, “stop being a greedy, selfish, money-grubbing bonehead.”
Normally, that is.
Today, however, I find myself on the verge of reluctant agreement with my green, grassy, psychological nemesis, wondering if, perhaps, the grass will always be greener on the other side–on the playing field that is my mind, anyway.
Is there ever a point in which we actually take a deep breath and say, “Ah, there. NOW I’m completely happy with everything in my life, including that weird mole that appeared on my arm, and–you know what?–I don’t want any other grass on any other side. Mine is just perfect the way it is.”
Or, is it the case that, in the quest for self-development, your grass will never be as green as you want it to be? Better phrased: Will I forever be engaged in an (elusive?) battle to be…more? Better? Greener? More luscious?
Now for the twist: Am I even seeking to be more, or could it be the case that I’m helplessly engaged in a fool’s battle with the never-ending challenge that being more presents? Relative to lifestyle design, am I truly involved in it for the potential end reward, or is it possible that I’m involved because it provides me yet another challenge to manhandle?
… Am I nothing more than a mere adrenaline junkie?
Then again, I’ve had moments, too, when lifestyle design is appealing for exactly what it promises: The ownership of your own time. (Ironic that we must repossess ownership over something that is inherently ours in the first place, but that’s another story.) I have now reached a point where, to even contemplate worst-case scenarios in which I’d be forced back into the numbness of timesheet servitude, I involuntarily shudder. Regrettably, horizontal stripes & handcuffs aren’t all that becoming on me. Neither is the black cloak of guilt that comes as a free bonus, as a special thank you for shopping with the Western world.
My mind then ricochets to a new thought, one that is mildly disturbing, yet reverberating with potential truth: Could it be that, ironically enough, I’m the one who takes life much too seriously? Could it be that I am so hypersensitive of life’s delicate, volatile ways, that I’m desperately trying to cling to whatever fleeting moments I’ve been granted, like a fledging attempt at capturing a minnow by repeatedly cupping my hands in the water? Do I take life too seriously in the sense that I’m obsessed with getting it right, and making every moment count? Am I over doing it? Is it even possible to over do life?
Perhaps I am the ultimate perfectionist, radically aiming for perfection in my life, by constantly trying to ensure perpetual happiness. Constantly trying to ensure the best of the best, as I define it, anyway, never accepting mediocrity in its place. This, too, makes me furrow my brow because it flies in the face of my otherwise free-spirited demeanor–but in a strange way that opposes my unrestrained, fancy-free ways by simultaneously defending them. I am a perfectionist about being carefree.
I’ve got this overwhelming desire to make this one, precious life so absolutely perfect – so absolutely wonderful, so absolutely right – so that it truly represents and, more importantly, feels like the life that I would like to live, that it seems as if my endeavors in lifestyle design could be a heavy nod to just that: Large-scale perfectionism.
Is it perfectionism?
Is it the product of a time-based society, in which we are acutely, painfully aware of every passing minute?
Is it some character flaw of my own?
Or could it simply be a function of human nature?
From the middle finger project, post Is Lifestyle Design A Manifestation of Perfectionism In Disguise? A Self-Reflection
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Filed Under: Lifestyle Design • Philosophy, baby
About the Author: Ashley Ambirge is the sarcastic, brash, hot-sauce-addicted founder of The Middle Finger Project, where she gives the evil eye to mediocrity, fervently questions societal assumptions, and aims to inspire readers to flip a cordial bird to the shoulds, and live how they want.
Whiskey shots strictly optional.
