Amongst a new found adoration for The Weeknd’s album, and a (definitely not new) love for the actual weekend, there’s a new tune on repeat in my little head at the moment.
It goes something like this: min. effort, max. effect.
I’m convinced there’s a sort of profound escrow, like an upside down u-shape of effort vs output. We think that more time, more reflection, more effort and energy will result in something better, bigger, grander – something to be ‘more prouder’ of. (That is terrible English, and I’m not sure prouder is even a word, but you get me.)
It’s a joke, because this incessant perjury of ‘perfectionism’ is really quite paralysing.
How many things are put off, delayed, revisited, re-discussed, redone or still left untouched because it’s still not 4000% perfect?
While I always thought a messy bun looked better than a structured ballerina one anyway, I’m learning real quick, that done, is more often than not, better than perfect.
I’m also learning with this finite schedule, that shit needs to get done. Yesterday.
Today my food for thought is this delicious nugget: don’t let perfection get in the way of progress.
We’re done now.
Imperfect, but done.