The Human Stain

When I was a little girl, my father stood in front of my grandparents' staircase one day and told me that I was a perfectionist. I don't know what incident prompted the comment, nor what I thought of it at the time, but I have mulled it over a lot in the decades since. For most of them, I was convinced that he was wrong. A perfectionist is someone who won't rest until they've expended every ounce of energy, every morsel of intention, every iota of mental, physical, and emotional prowess to accomplish a task. It doesn't matter the size or importance of the job; doing it just so is king.

As you must know by now, I prefer to half-ass most things. It's just who I am. Done is better than perfect, I always say.

But sometime in recent years, I realized what I think my father was trying to tell me. He didn't mean to say that I was the kind of person who redid a book report 17 times until I was happy with it. I was not -- I was the kind who hung a bunch of hastily painted styrofoam spheres from a coat hanger and called it a day on my solar system project so I could play with a friend.(My mom called my back home within the hour and we spent the rest of the night redoing it to a much higher standard.)

I think what my dad was referring to is my tendency not to want to do anything unless I am good at it from the start, unless I know that I will excel. It isn't about giving my all, it's about having my some be better than anybody else's. Unless I am a natural, forget it.

And about that, he's right. I hate doing things I am not good at, and I rarely do. If I think I am going to suck at something, I give up before I begin. I'm not proud of my approach, but I have accepted it. The thought of being bad at something slips into every tiny crevice in my brain and my body and whispers "you suck" over and over and over again, the drumbeat of defeat growing louder and louder until I want to run and stick my head under a pillow and hold it down so tight that I can't hear it anymore.

There are a lot of problems with being this way. One of them is that I don't often try new things. And when I do, I hate them. (see also: Sports.) The only reason I went cross-country skiing for the first time when I was 28 is because Jeff's bad knee prevented us from going downhill skiing -- which actually was great, since a grown woman snowplowing her way down every mountain in Park City is something I didn't really want my colleagues to see anyway. Luckily I was with beginners, and we fell and laughed and helped each other up. I spent some of the most breathtakingly quiet moments on earth out there in the vast white world where nothing but bunnies and deer and birds lived, swish-swishing through the forest with only four other people. But if I had been the only one who was new to cross-country skiing, I would have pleaded a cold, stayed at the lodge, and missed out on one of the most peaceful moments I have ever had.

Another problem with this crap-tacular approach to life is that I have developed an unhealthy need for my life to look perfect. And by life, I mean apartment. (Because any idiot can see that my life is far from perfect.) I cannot actually recall ever having a friend come by, no matter how long I have known them, that I didn't clean the bathroom first. I have even gone into the bathroom with a vacuum cleaner while I made friends wait outside in the hallway because they showed up unexpectedly. Now, if I lived in a fraternity house, this would be an act of kindness, but my place is pretty clean on a regular basis. Our housekeeper comes once a week, and I do tidying up and sweeping and stuff in between. Plus, I make Jeff use the other bathroom sink so mine doesn't look like a toothpaste factory exploded in it. The truth is, I don't really need to clean the bathroom every 5 minutes. Except that I do.

When people come over -- and, um, maybe more importantly, even when they don't -- the bed must be made and straightened. If Jeff takes a nap, I have to smooth the wrinkles from the pillow within two minutes of him getting up. Or the world will explode. (It's true. It is!) Truth be told, I would prefer it if you could not tell that people occupied the place. Call the style post-apocalyptic -- as if suddenly, all humans vanished from the Earth and this model apartment was all that was left.

After Jeff's accident, a lot of people inadvertently reinforced this crazy notion of mine. If I've heard it once, I've heard it a million times: "You are handling this with such grace." Ha! That couldn't be farther from the truth. I scream and cry and fall apart and get mad -- at Jeff, of all people -- all the time. But I don't do it so other people can see. In the first hard weeks after Jeff fell, not including the first few days, I only cried in the shower because I didn't want him to hear me. For the first 6 weeks when neither of us left the apartment for any reason other than to go to his doctors' appointments, I only asked two or three times for people to run errands for us, even though I desperately needed the help. His parents came up every week, usually more than once, to take him to some of the appointments and give me a break. Often I invited them to stay for lunch, which I always made -- soup, sandwiches, salads, nothing fancy, but nothing store-bought either. Meanwhile, Jeff couldn't walk or take a bath by himself, couldn't even get up in the night to pee without my help, but I was putting on mini-dinner parties. It seems mad in retrospect, but I'm learning that it's how I cope with disaster and vulnerability and fear. I figure, if everything looks fine and perfect and under control, then maybe it will be.

So when a friend dropped his bottle of beer on the living room carpet at our holiday party a few weeks ago, I rushed in with the OxyClean and the reassurance that all was fine in the world. Inside I was freaking out, but I smiled and murmured not to worry. That's what perfect hostesses do. I flooded the stain, applied the magical elixir of stain removal, and went to bed feeling good.

When I woke up the next morning, what remained was a big, misshapen blotch of faded rug. For days I applied more and more OxyClean, convinced all it needed was a little more elbow grease and some patience. When we left for the East coast for Christmas and the stain remained, I told myself we'd hire a carpet cleaner in the new year.

It dawned on me last night that the "stain" is actually lighter in color than our white carpet. Essentially, I have bleached it. What remains is noticeably whiter, with a ring of brown around the edge from the beer. There is no more stain to remove -- I have gone one better and removed the carpet's color. There is no way to fix this, save recarpeting the entire apartment. (Because all the rooms have to match. Duh.)

As soon as I realized what I had done, I got angry. I stomped and stormed about the apartment, barking at Jeff for not reading the Christmas cards yet, furiously folding clothes and tossing them into the armoire. How could I ever straighten my life out if this big huge horrid stain was forever smack dab in the middle of our living room, reminding me just how imperfect everything is?

Ah.

Aha.

And with that realization, something shifted. Maybe I need this stain, this thing I can see and touch every day, to help me remember that life, my life, is not perfect, no matter how hard I try to make it look that way. I marched myself back into the living room and tried to look at the stain with fondness. Then I did it again, and again, until I actually started feeling sort of affectionate about the stain. And then, out of nowhere, I decided to keep it. I might even name it. (I'm also madly hatching plans to get rid of it: We'll get an area rug! Let's see if there's hardwood underneath there and redo the floors!). But mostly, I'm trying to appreciate this sign from the universe. However ugly it may be, it is a reminder that there is no sense trying to look perfect when you are anything but.

Comments

[Zoomie]

Beautiful writing about a beautiful and revelatory moment. Thank you.

[Zoomie]

Beautiful writing about a beautiful and revelatory moment. Thank you.

[mom]

By all means, name it Oscar. It's your "award" for realizing that nothing is "perfect," which is "perfectly" OK! And one more thing---age will take care of lots of that feeling of trying to impress others. I am old enough to just smile & say, "What the f---!"

[robyn]

I like your new tagline, and your new-style content. Keep it coming!

[Fatemeh]

I love you, so very very much.

(Does this means shoes are allowed on the carpet now?)

[Jennifer Jeffrey]

Catherine, this is a beautiful piece, and you're amazing. Ever since I saw your office, I've been frantically trying to figure out where you keep all your papers + magazines + books + paper clips + the odd tube of chapstick... it has seriously been driving me mad!

You have the most beautiful desk arrangement I've ever seen. I wish I could have the same, but I know it would last about 3.9 minutes. The stain on your living room rug makes me feel the teensiest bit better about the disaster on my desk...

[Tiffany]

Wow. First of all, we are so much alike. I rarely try anything unless I am confident that I'll do well. The best thing I ever did in my life was to start embracing (what I thought of as) mediocrity. It's made all the difference.

Second, you are an amazing writer and this is such a lovely, enlightening piece!

[Stephanie]

Jesus woman, how much this piece spoke to me. My teeny tiny apartment *must* look perfect before people arrive, and I am loathe to ask for help or even really cry out at times because I'm convinced that I can handle everything. That I have to handle it. At least, on the outside.

It's only been in recent years that I've learned it's okay to be messy and it's okay to be less than strong.

[elarael]

Genius post. Thank you for sharing.

[sam]

I only just read this - whilst eating my [delicious, actually] WW lunch. Yes it made me cry. [Your writing, not the lunch]. I don't really give a crap about appearances - people have to take me as I come. And really I am not ever going to ever get upset about anybody ruining one of my possessions UNLESS it is something with sentimental value which I can't replace. Yes, crying over a friends post, clinging to the memories of a received gift. My problem isn't with perfection, it's with being a really soppy idiot.

[Elizabeth]

I loved this. Wonderful.

[jaybee]

delurking to say this was a beautiful piece. I had a similar experience when i had my first child and realized that nothing in my life would ever be perfect (let alone completed!) again and that that was ok. It makes you appreciate what i call the "little victories" of life == a big gulp of fresh air in the morning, empyting the dishwasher, finding a pefectly round rock at Baker Beach, a snuggle with my kids. If you look for them, they happen much more frequently than you think.

[Sylvia]

Excellent! Catherine, you need to go to FlyLady.net! She talks all about how perfectionism can ruin lives and how just to take it easy and not go overboard in any direction.

[emily]

I feel so empowered by you, this is the first time I have ever heard anyone say out loud that they prefer to half-ass most things. My sisters have called me "the queen of wing" for years. I too am a perfectionist and control freak when it comes to what I enjoy doing and am very good at.(Food) Everything else, well Done is Better as they say!

[emily]

Oh how you have empowered me this morning! Never in all of my life has anyone said out loud or in print that their approach to life is crap-tacular and half-assed. My sisters have called me the "Queen of Wing" for decades now and I admit I am very good at it. On the other hand i am hardest on myself and a perfectionist when it comes to food (I am a chef) as well as a control-freak. But i am very happy and proud to have hot-glued my curtains to the wall. Glad to meet another Miss-Halfway!

[Catherine]

What awesome comments! I feel compelled to answer each one.

Zoomie -- thank you. That means a lot to me.

Mom -- I don't think it's as much about impressing others as it is coping with feeling out of control. But I love your name suggestion and I have, in fact, begun referring to him as Oscar!

Fatemeh -- I love you too. And no. They aren't. :)

Jennifer -- I hate to say it, but my desk is always that neat :) Mostly. The secret is an under-the-desk filing cabinet...

Tiffany -- now that it's too late to vote, I'd vote you skip Delaware, move to SF, and we can compulsively clean and avoid new things all the time. We could even create a club!

Stephanie -- I can tell that about you. We must convince one another to keep along the messy path!

Sam -- your soppiness is part of what makes everyone love you so much ;)

Elizabeth -- thank you so much for saying so.

Jaybee -- so glad to meet you! I love the things you point out and have begun trying to find those in my day more and more. A kid would shatter my fragile perfect ecosystem beyond repair...I can only imagine the heap of a person I would become ;)

Sylvia -- thanks for the suggestion.

Emily -- yeah, it's freeing to admit all my weaknesses and foibles. As I get older, I'm learning that.

[Tea]

Oooh, I love this one! As a former perfectionist (attempted, at least) I can relate. I used to not only clean the bathroom before people came over--I *painted* the place, more than once. Then I realized that my favorite moments of the parties I threw were the moments before people showed up, when everything was perfectly arranged and pretty, and I was forgetting to enjoy the time with my friends.

I also got to spend some time with people whose houses/cars/desks etc were never tidy, but they were infinitely more at home with themselves and having far more fun with life than I was. It was a good lesson to learn.

[Karen Estey]

Tiny Dancer - buy the throw rug - K

[catherine ross]

What an awesome piece of writing! Isn't it a relief to just put it out there?
I really relate to your situation. I was anorexic in high school (it's all about this perfectionist stuff) and I, too, would only do things I was a natural at. I, too, experienced a major crisis: my son was diagonsed with autism. I kept that perfectionist thing up for as long as I could in crisis, determinded to out-will my Fate, then I collapsed. Big time. It was awful, but I had to face the reality that I couldn't actually control everything. Then, as I grew back into myself, less perfect, but me, my husband left me for another woman.

So I decided to change. For the first time, I just started telling people how it really was - not perfect, actually kinda shitty and stressful. And to my amazement, instead of judging or avoiding me (my fear and expectation), people rallied for me, supported me, encouraged me. This never happened when I was "perfect".

We all have messy lives and, truth is, that pefectionist thing is ultimately alienating and a serious waste of energy. You are who you are, regardless of how anybody else sees you.
And, you know, nothing has been more freeing, made me feel more connected, than sharing my very stained life as it really is. And, I believe, admitting the stains ultimately frees you to really shine. So shine!

[White On Rice Couple]

Your site is such a great read. I can spend lots of time here. Thanks for your musings!

[shauna]

Yes. Oh yes.

I still call myself a recovering perfectionist. When I was in my 20s, I didn't have much in my life, and so I held onto every tiny thing I did have. It took several years of therapy, a near-fatal car accident, and my celiac diagnosis to finally release me. No one believes me now that I was ever a perfectionist.

But I still understand that tendency to not want to try something new because we might be bad at it. That's why I push myself toward that, because it's so damned humbling.

One of my favorite lines ever? My friend Tita, who is so wonderful and so damned hard on herself, once said: "I can't be a perfectionist. I'm not good enough to be a perfectionist."

Dance around the stain on the rug. Sounds like a new beginning.

And thank you so much for writing this.

[The Cooking Ninja]

Lovely post. As I grow older, I have learnt to let go out certain things in life.

[Dad]

I recognized the perfectionist in you because I'm that way too. It can really limit how much fun you can have when you let your fear control what you're willing to try. Ultimately most of us learn that we can't control much in our world. I go out and work in the yard and see that once again the weeds are ahead of me, out of control. So mother nature constantly reminds me that I can't do it all, or keep up with it all.

Since you like birds, you should decorate Oscar to look like a bird. So instead of a stain, you'll have a work of art. So you could call the stain Art instead of Oscar.

[Shea]

Hi Catharine,

I just found your blog today, and happened upon this particular post. First, though, congratulations on your engagement! Second, this little story could be the story of my life. If you weren't you, I might think you were me. :) In any event, your writing is funny and lovely, and I'm glad to have stumbled into your world.

All the best,
shea