Dealing With Perfection

As a young child, I believed that perfectionists were people who did things perfectly.  I wanted that, desperately.  So I prayed to some higher power to make me a perfectionist.  And, as these things happen, it was the one prayer that was answered. However, if you do an internet search of “perfectionist” you get the feeling that it is a perilous trait to have.

It can, according to Healthline, make you unhappy, depressed, anxious, and more.  So I think that my prayer was only partially answered:  I do beat myself up for not measuring up to some standard that, as I age I have realized is only in my head.  And it has kept me from learning a new language, dancing in public, or writing that great American novel that I used to be sure was my destiny to write.  But over the years, I have learned to give myself some slack.

Recently, I started volunteering at the Museum of Tolerance, and—because they are woefully short of trained tour guides—they really pushed my volunteer group to get certified in a hurry.  So I did.

My first tour was a group of 10th graders who had travelled over 2 hours in a school bus to get to the museum.  It was a large group, and the teacher opted to stay with the other half.  The parent that was with my group let me know that he didn’t know these kids and was uncomfortable asking them to do anything.  Essentially, I was on my own.

Like all groups, a few were really interested, a few were totally disinterested, and the rest—well, they were there.  This meant that a lot of my questions went unanswered, except by me.  They were in no way “bad,” just 10th graders who had a lot more that interested them than learning (more) about the Holocaust or going through the social lab that focuses on issues of today.

At the end, I felt deflated, sure that I had failed.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how many actually tried to answer my questions; how attentive they had been as they stood in front of the cafe scene or learned that the Jews did not go “like sheep to the slaughter.”  And how easy they were when the social lab was so crowded that we zig zagged around and didn’t get to the most interactive exhibits.

It made me realize that my job was not to teach, not to lead, but rather, to meet them where they were, to appreciate where that was, and to help them perhaps ask themselves a few more questions.

One of the exhibits in the museum shows in a visual way that just by walking through a space, being there, we all make a difference.

That’s sometimes really hard to remember.  When your board members talk about the fundraising that has to happen, and then do nothing to make that a reality.  Or when potential donors won’t respond to repeated calls and emails.  When the demand for the work your organization does keeps growing, and your resources keep shrinking.

Your work is a lot like my tours.  They have been wonderful, horrible, frustrating, exhilarating.  Usually all at once.

And mostly I feel privileged to be able to be doing this.