A large majority of my time goes into music. I’ve played the flute for the past eight years, and started taking lessons at the end of high school. I love playing, learning new music, and watching myself grow as a musician. But there’s one thing I absolutely hate about being an instrumentalist, and that’s that I’m not the best.
I realize this sounds beyond ridiculous. I’m 19 and, compared to a lot of people, I haven’t really been playing for that long. I’ve spent even less time under private instruction to hone in on the fine details of my skills and weaknesses. All things considered, I’m a pretty good player, and more importantly, I’m spending my time doing what I love. But despite all the facts, I can’t help but berate myself when I miss an accidental or mess up a phrase, or just don’t understand a piece of music in general. No matter how much I tell myself, “No, you’re not perfect and yes, that’s OK,” I can’t help but drive myself crazy whenever I make a mistake, big or small. Sure, part of my frustration comes from knowing I can be better with practice, and part of it is because nobody likes to be wrong about something, but for me most of it stems from one main character flaw: I’m a perfectionist.
And not just with my music, either. I will stress out, freak out, and even cry it out if I think I’m not doing a good enough job in pretty much anything, from flute sonatas, to school papers, to writing articles for the Odyssey. If something I create doesn’t meet my unreasonably high standards, I immediately knock it down and criticize it for being the worst thing known to man. Super healthy habit, I know.
The thing is, I don’t know where I’d be without my constant desire for perfection. I mean, less stressed is probably a good place to start, but my work itself would diminish in quality. Like a lot of “type A” people, I’m motivated by stress, in a way. Pushing things all the way to their deadlines, raking over every sentence written and every note played with a fine tooth comb, repeating, rewording, and redoing things over and over until I think they’re finally good enough to share with others is a painstaking process, but it’s just how I work. And for the most part, after all the freaking out, I’m pretty proud of the things I’ve created and shared. Sure, I spent 15 minutes trying to decide just how to word the previous sentence, but as a result, I know I’ve phrased my thoughts in the best, most effective way I can, and I’ll never have to worry about it again. Though this process does mean most things that should take me a few minutes end up being a long drawn out ordeal (it’s taken me about two hours to write the previous 500 words).
At the end of the day, I don’t know how I feel about being so meticulous; it leads to both some of my best work and my worst breakdowns, and I’m not always sure the former is worth the price of the latter. But no matter how annoying my insane need for perfection may be, I’ve made it work for me thus far, and hopefully it’ll keep working in my favor. If not, I’m sure I’ll find a way to perfect it in the future.
