A few days back I discovered this wonderful blog post. It’s by Josiane, who invented the name “kimianak” for her blog. I assumed it was an Inuit word, but I was wrong. (Yep, you’re going to have to click to find out what it means…I’m quoting enough of her in this post as it is.)

Josiane writes about having a major epiphany: “I know one of the reasons why I don’t get around to doing some of the things I want to do is that as long as they remain undone, they retain the potential of being perfect.”

This is a huge realization. HUGE.

For a very long time I was unaware, as many people are, of the direct link between perfectionism and procrastination. In fact, it seems contradictory. Someone who strives so hard to be absolutely faultless would be sure to include following schedules and meeting timelines in that, wouldn’t they?

But that ignores how deep the perceived need to be superhuman can go. And that need is based on fear, one of our most primal emotions. Which is linked to our basic biological drive for survival. So yeah, perfectionism carries some serious oomph.

To describe what can happen, I am hereby coining a word of my own.

Procrastifectionism (noun):  Delaying action out of the fear, either conscious or unconscious, of not performing to the unreasonably high standards one desires to meet.

It works like this.

You want or need to do something that feels high-stakes for you. (It doesn’t have to look high-stakes to anyone else—it only needs to feel that way to you.) It’s so important, it absolutely has to be good. And today you just don’t have it in you to give it the amount of time, energy, or concentration that it needs to be that good.

So you put it off until tomorrow. Or Monday. Or the first of the month. Because you’ll be ready then.

Except you’re not. You can’t be, because you’re still just as intimidated about how overwhelming the project seems and how perfectly you need to do it.

So you start feeling bad about your ability to get the job done. If you can’t even get started, how will it ever be good? Your self-esteem sinks, and you don’t feel ready to tackle the task. Again.

Rinse and repeat. It’s a vicious cycle.

Until you realize, like Josiane did, that

The form in which that imagined potential of perfection exists . . . it is not what I want. That potential perfection, even if it was actualised, is deeply flawed. It is flawed, and for a very simple reason: there is no “me” in that (potentially or actually) perfect thing – it is not in any way infused with my essence, my me-ness.

Hmm. Interesting. I kept reading. Then she pretty much blew me away with this bit:

Those things I don’t create . . . can’t be infused with my essence so long as they remain within me. As long as they’re only within me, I am not within them; they have to come out of me in order to take with them – and contain within them – some of what I am.

It reminds me of when we learned about the two types of energy way back in grade school—potential and kinetic. Kinetic energy is energy in motion—acting on the world and doing things. Potential energy contains power, but doesn’t unleash it. It just sits there, pregnant with possibilities, but giving birth to none of them.

Okay, so I’m anthropomorphizing basic physics. But you get the point.

As you go through the next few days or weeks, check in with yourself from time to time and ask yourself which type of energy you’re embodying. There’s no right or wrong—this is about just noticing, so you can make more self-aware choices.

And check out the rest of Josiane’s blog post. She’s one smart woman.

I was going to write about something else today, but Chris Zydel’s wonderful post changed my mind. Check it out—she talks about why reframing the whole concept of making mistakes is a very good idea. I love her weed analogy. And her allusion to the doctrine of the Church of Mistakes. I know I’m a member of that congregation.

Chris reminds us how important it is to remember to be kind to yourself when you make mistakes and things don’t turn out the way your judgmental mind hoped they would. It’s also helpful to remember the good that can come out of your mistakes (or the things you think are mistakes). Like learning. New insights.

And sometimes, the Happy Accident.

One of my favorite Winnie-the-Pooh stories (I almost typed “when I was a kid,” then I realized it’s still one of my favorite Pooh stories) is the one about Eeyore’s birthday. Eeyore, as you may remember, is a rather gloomy and depressed donkey. He doesn’t expect much from life, so “not much” is usually what he gets. One year on his birthday, Pooh and Piglet each bring him a birthday present. Pooh’s gift is a jar of honey, which he (being a Bear of Very Little Impulse Control When it Comes to Hunny) unthinkingly eats along the way. Piglet’s gift is a big red balloon, which he falls upon and bursts while running to Eeyore’s place.

Each presents his gift rather shamefacedly, but Eeyore is entranced by the way the burst balloon fits into the pot perfectly. Pooh and Piglet leave him happily dropping the balloon into the honey pot, then pulling it out again, then dropping it in again . . .

Quite by accident, they had given Eeyore the best birthday present ever.

I remember a happy accident of my own. One year during college, I stayed in town for the summer semester. I’d been working hard on my honors thesis and other very cerebral matters of (*cough*) lofty import (*cough*), so I decided to get my hands into some soothing, 100% physical clay. I took a wheel-thrown pottery class and had a blast—so much that I frequently went to the studio after hours to practice on my own.

One day I decided to use the big, heavy kick wheel (where you kick a very heavy round stone attached by a vertical axle to the potter’s wheel, making them rotate together) rather than one of the electric ones (where you step on a pedal to make the wheel spin, and the speed varies with your foot pressure). I’d never used the kick wheel before, so I intended to make a simple bowl.

As I worked the clay, it collapsed too far inward. At first I was upset, but then wondered what else the clay might want to become. It turned (pun absolutely intended) out to be the best mug I ever made, and I still drink out of it today. It’s not perfect—I didn’t know much about making handles, so my mug handle is sort of fragile and irregular-looking.

But because of its beginnings as a proto-bowl, my mug has a very thick bottom. Coupled with the inward-curving sides, it holds heat like no other mug I’ve owned. And there’s nothing like the pleasure of sipping hot tea or coffee from a piece of pottery you’ve thrown, glazed, and fired yourself. It means more to me than any “perfect” commercially produced mug I could buy from a store.

What kinds of happy accidents have you had? I’d love to hear about them!