Then she realised she had to let go of perfectionism completely -- because, as she said, "nothing bad will actually happen if you make a mistake".
I needed to hear that.
Like Shayla, I am a perfectionist. As a reporter, I have spent many an anguished half hour typing and re-typing introductory sentences, because they just haven't sounded quite right.
"You're agonising again", my bosses would say. Translated as: "get moving, we're on a deadline".
Creatively, I'm five scenes into an animated screenplay, and I think I've spent more time deleting in disgust than actually writing.
I sit there, judge, jury and executioner working over time, sentencing those less-than-stellar word combinations to oblivion.
Not exactly inspiring or productive.
But, more than that, it's not enjoyable.
I've recently taken up painting, which I've found extremely healing: a perfect escape from the high-octane urgency of journo life.
But then, I'll smudge something or my colours don't match -- and my stomach clenches all over again.
It's just not quite right. What, then, is the point of a relaxing hobby, if you can't relax?
I think we have, as a society, become fixated on end results. We're unnerved by anything that deviates from the result -- an odd-sounding sentence or a spot of paint outside the lines. A fear of losing control, perhaps? Like Shayla's class, we're petrified of mistakes.
But what if we took her advice, and let it go? Make a start, get it out of our system, embrace all the kinks and quirks? Go back and edit later? Forget about perfect, and just have a bit of fun on the ride? Chances are, we might actually get a bit more done.
A friend of mine often says, "perfect is the enemy of good". Now, thanks to Shayla, I finally understand what that means.
