Perfect is the enemy of the good in so many ways. It’s a whack-a-mole kind of a goal that is not only unreasonable and unattainable, it will work against your ability to be your best. It will grind you down, make you afraid of risk and crush your creativity. And the world needs leaders who are energized, willing to go in bold, new directions and who are able to see a variety of possibilities.
The Inner Critic, like most five year olds, believes in perfect and is very invested in getting it. Having high standards isn’t a bad thing. Worthy goals will give you direction and motivation. But chasing after perfect will saddle you with persistent feelings of inadequacy and isolation. And almost every leader I know struggles with this.
You, like all of us, have developed a series of defensive maneuvers and personal armor to hide and protect the soft and tender places, the bruises, the scars, the flaws, the imperfections. What are you most afraid of in yourself? What feelings are you desperate to avoid? What truth makes you want to turn away?
It’s difficult to maneuver in full-plated armor. Hair trigger defensive reactions are rough on you and the people around you. If you want freedom and inner peace, you can’t just strip away what’s protecting you. That will feel terribly unsafe and unsettling. Instead, you need to give love to what’s underneath so that it doesn’t need so much protection.
Throughout your development but particularly early childhood, adolescence and young adulthood, you faced experiences that overwhelmed you. These experiences led you to believe that you are inadequate in some way. Your Inner Critic formed out of the need to make up for this perceived inadequacy. It assumes that if it is harsh enough to us, it will goad us not to be so weak, ugly, stupid, effeminate, moody, sensitive, etc.
Even though you’ve outgrown these early traumatic experiences, you still cannot help but think that you lack in some fundamental way. Given the right stimulus—your partner’s look of disgust, a parent’s reprimand or getting laid off—you will find yourself back yet again in that trauma zone along with that mean Inner Critic telling you how incompetent, hideous, irresponsible or naive you are.
That Critic is attempting—in its own unskillful way—to protect you from the underlying feelings of defectiveness. Instead of protecting you, however, it blocks you from experiencing it directly. It dissociates you from the hurt by sending you back into the project known as "how do I fix myself?"
When you were younger, you were inadequately equipped to face or work with this overwhelming pain. Now that you’re an adult and have more emotional and psychological resources than you did when you were young, you’re more capable of facing it. To do so, you’re going to have to start by giving up attempting to be perfect. That day will won't ever come.
It will also require that you see your pain in a new light. Up until this moment, you have considered your suffering to be a mistake. Judging your pain as wrong puts you in opposition to the way of things and the wisdom of the universe. Maybe your challenge is to stop seeing fault in what hurts you, but instead, to consider the possibility that the hurt might have something to show you. That if you listen behind and underneath the urge to erase something wrong, the pain might reveal something important to you.
This is not to suggest that the initial pain you experienced in those fragile states of development was warranted. No child deserves to feel unwanted, unloved, unsafe or violated. At the same time, you might also acknowledge that something important has grown out of those experiences, something that makes you wiser, stronger or more compassionate, perhaps.
Though we might not entirely comprehend the method to the madness known as suffering, we can see its gifts. The practice of gratitude is an attitude in which we hold everything—including hurt, loss and failure—as an opportunity to discover something new about ourselves and the world.
When my brother took his life, I was already facing a particularly vulnerable moment. I had just begun my university studies hundreds of miles from home and I felt lonely, anxious and unsure of myself. My brother’s death and the resulting heartache and confusion distorted and exaggerated those initial feelings of fragility.
One critical instruction I received from a close family friend was not to feed the anger and not to blame. I’m deeply grateful for this advice. Had I allowed myself to fall into bitterness, I would have lost several years of my life to negativity. This isn’t to say that I did not permit myself to feel resentment when it came up—both for the situation and toward my brother. Suicide, while a very personal act, is also an extremely hostile one. But to feed the rage would have only prolonged and deepened the hole I already found myself in.
I’m also indebted to a teacher who taught me the power of perspective, that the way we look at things makes a big difference in how we respond to and experience them. Far too often we believe we do not have the power of choice, that the circumstances of our lives determine our experience. It’s the boss’ fault; it’s because of the long commute to work; it’s because of the limited financial resources; etc. While I had no choice around my brother’s violent death, this teacher taught me that I did have a choice in how I interpreted the outcome of my experience. I could see the grieving process as an impediment or a learning opportunity.
As an impediment, my grief was nothing more than an inconvenience, a waste of time or an unnecessary irritation. Not long after my brother’s passing, I was lost in this disempowering perspective. I’d always heard that my time in university was supposed to be fun, but I felt so vulnerable that I found it nearly impossible to relate to anyone around me. I smoked way too much marijuana as a way to numb my pain. What I found was that this tactic only exacerbated my sense of aloneness and depression.
When, through the guidance and support of my teacher, I could regard my brother’s loss as an opportunity for growth and learning, a field of possibility opened that led me to take my life in a wholly new and tremendously fulfilling direction. This shift was no easy feat, especially given the fact that nobody close to me—neither my friends or family—could guide, understand or support this journey that took me away from plans of college and a career in the family business.
For many years, I felt as if I was walking through a dark house with only my intuition to guide me. I dropped out of university for a period and found myself experimenting with things like yoga and mindfulness meditation, which, at the time, were considered to be for people who were “weird” or “broken.” In spite of the lonely and sometimes frightening nature of the journey, I could sense a mysterious pull to learn as much as I could. The need to heal compelled me to keep going, to seek out teachers and teachings and, ultimately to find my way.
Today I can say with absolute certainty that my brother gave me a gift. Instead of feeling hatred or holding a grudge, I cannot help but feel a reverent love for him and gratitude for the journey his death forced me to take.
When you can see pain as a curriculum rather than a mistake, you begin a new relationship with yourself. That which wounds you might not just be bad news. It might also be the thing that points you in the direction of your authentic nature.
Had you not endured all that you have, you would not be as compassionate or understanding. Your old wounds can make you more resilient and see more clearly. Your pain is what makes you wise.
This is not to say that gratitude is always accessible. It is not easy to recognize the gifts that come out of suffering. Sometimes challenges can be so blinding and daunting that you cannot possibly see the opportunity that is in front of you. Over time and when you are ready, it mysteriously reveals itself.
While gratitude is partly about being grateful for what you have, it’s also about being thankful for what appears to be missing. To hold this perspective, it requires that you give up attempting to determine what is right and what is wrong. In gratitude, each moment is an opportunity to learn from, including the tragic loss of a sibling, the neglect of a parent when you were hurting or the betrayal of a friend or colleague.
All of these experiences, from the attitude of gratefulness, are grist for the mill. On the surface, they might appear like insensitive and cruel acts, but at a deeper level, they are what can propel you to grow, seek, learn and, ultimately, serve.
And to do that, you need to build a big bonfire and burn your perfectionism. The reality is that you are human, just like everyone else. And humans are a Gordian knot of brilliance and shadow, vulnerability and strength. You are neither one nor the other.
Self-compassion may not come naturally to you, but it’s essential. It requires that you accept your humanity and see that you are no worse or better than anyone else. That you, like all beings, deserve unconditional kindness.