Paralyzed by Perfectionism? Just Hit "Send."

Last night, I picked up my phone to do something…no idea what…and eventually tapped the Instagram icon to see what’s up in that realm.

Algorithms being what they are, my eyes fixed on the ad that played on my feed.

“Do you procrastinate like it’s your day job?” the bold letters asked. “Take a short quiz to receive a personalized anti-procrastination plan with daily actionable steps.”

Count me in. This is just up my alley.

So I took the quiz and instantly receive my personalized assessment.

Drumroll, please!

Perfectionism.

The algorithm hit the proverbial nail right on my head.

Why am I so focused on doing everything right?

Why do I fuss and fixate over the best synonym for "mistake" (error, fault, blunder, slip-up, gaffe, inaccuracy, oversight, misstep, blooper, lapse, muddle, bloomer, misprint, miscalculation, faux pas—and that’s just the offerings for "error-ish" nouns) when my whole raison d’etre is to inspire others to Do Their ARt! with reckless abandon in order to reap the benefits of creativity?

If you ever hesitate to take the next step because you know whatever you're doing isn't quite perfect, try this:

Step outside yourself.

Whenever you start beating yourself up for a mistake, pretend you're coaching (or consoling) a friend.

• Would you go through the laundry list of their faults? Or would you tuck them under the chin and say, “It’s okay. You’re so close. Try again.”

Disassociation works. Treat yourself with the same kindness you would give to your best friend.

Reflect on your early attempts to Do Your ARt!

Think back to your first attempts at the art you do now:

• How old were you?
• What project did you first attempt?

I remember the first time I made scrambled eggs. A simple enough dish, but mine was a disaster. I successfully made egg dust. Dry, powdery, and tasteless. Luckily, I did not imprint on that first try.

But even now, every time I crack an egg and mix the scramble, there's a chance that I will go wrong. This does not dissuade me from trying anyway.

All artists suffer the failures of first tries, but our early tries are not failures. They are the first steps. And every step depends on the previous phase.

Mine the internet for ‘lesser’ working artists.

• Have you ever gone to a craft fair or an art show?
• Have you ever flipped through the pages of a magazine specific to your craft?
• Have you ever taken a class or a workshop?
• Notice the range of art products out there.

You will always find those who display more talent than you currently possess. But you will also recognize those artists/makers/creatives a step or two below your current level of mastery.

Consider how you could mentor those newbies. What lessons do you now understand that you could not perform before?

Noticing 'lesser' artists supports your journey when you recognize how far you have already traveled.

Study the early works of the masters.

Ask any writer to share their first draft, and more than likely, they will decline.

They may wince, look away and tuck their shoulders up in a defensive posture.

The gardener’s springtime plot appears bare, even dead. Still, the same patch a few weeks later appears lush with greenery and smells tantalizing with the fragrances of flowering shrubbery and blossoms.

The potter’s lump of clay is simply that—a lump. But the ceramicist has to start somewhere.

Vanquish the naysayers. They’re just jealous.

Critics and bullies suffer from their own inadequacies. When you fear or fixate on the critic's review, you permit the schoolyard bully to continue hold power over you.

Guess what? They don’t remember you. They didn't care about you then and certainly care less about you now. They bullied you to make up for their own shortcomings.

The critic's job is to keep their job, and they do that best when they have readers and followers. Their adrenaline peaks when they take the chance to say something radical.

But remember, they hit "send."

What are you waiting for?

Take a deep breath. And hit "send."

Last night, after reading my instant personality assessment, I decided to take an action I'd put off for months.

I emailed David Martin, the compassionate and kindhearted editor of Fine Lines Literary Journal.

I asked if he would read my manuscript and write a short blurb to include in the front pages.

Then, I posted to Eric Maisel’s group of creativity coaches. Eric is another truly altruistic, wise, and gifted expert in the field of creativity.

And then, I closed my laptop and went to bed.

This morning, I opened my laptop and tapped on my email icon.

Overnight, a fellow creativity coach asked about my manuscript and my timeframe for needing an answer.

I was disappointed.

I just wanted a slew of replies clamoring to read my work.

After just a few hours and this one nonjudgmental message, my momentum slowed.

The outcome was not perfect. And neither was I.

But then, I received a reply from David. He said he'd happily read my manuscript and write a blurb. He wrote, “You are one of my favorite writers.”

Wait. What? Really???

He went on to write, “My goodness, I love your 'p.s.' I will copy it and use it with your name attached everywhere I go.”

What had I written? I scrolled up the email.

p.s. Creativity is a glass skeleton. It can fracture and hide its tiny breaks, but when it's supported by muscle and tissue and a heart, it carries the artist's soul every step of their journey.

I beamed. My day turned around. Once again, I felt unstoppable.

Later, I opened my email again. Several other coaches offered their support and their willingness to write a blurb.

One wrote, “I am always inspired by your words in your newsletters.”

When you’re paralyzed by perfection, know and believe that the biggest mistake you can possibly make is to remain stuck.

You must square those shoulders, breathe, and hit send.

Let’s make art.