I am and always have been a perfectionist.

The first person to ever tell me I was a perfectionist was my sixth grade art teacher. She was making her rounds around the classroom, her hands clasped behind her back. I was sitting at my desk attempting to start on our afternoon assignment.

While the other kids were doodling away, I was sitting there staring at a blank sheet of paper. To my teacher and my classmates it looked like nothing was happening. I was planning. Sat there in my button down and plaid skirt uniform envisioning a big sweeping masterpiece. I thought about my paint brush going back and forth across the canvas. In reality I was quietly sitting there, looking down. No matter how many times my teacher tried to encourage me to put my pencil down and start to draw I was always the last to turn in a picture, that was generally unfinished.

In college my professors would tell me to get words down, to start somewhere with anything and go from there. It'd sit at my big white desk in my room and stare at the blank whiteness and blinking cursor in front of me. I had so many ideas but I was never quite sure I could get them to be exactly as I wanted. My professors became used to my papers coming in only a few minutes under deadline, or even quite commonly late.

I always took my time finishing creative work. I didn't want to put work out there that I knew I couldn't complete as I envisioned. Nothing ever seemed to be as perfect as I had hoped.

The majority of things I ever start, I leave unfinished. Wish me luck this time.

Photo Credit: @Morgan_Lua instagram