Rehearsing for perfectionist boot camp

I have dirt in the creases of my knuckles. I scrubbed my hands after weeding, really I did, but this dirt isn’t about to give up. I guess it’s a reminder of how beautiful a day it is, and why I accidentally found myself weeding in my errand clothes with no gloves. That’s my super power: I’ll just do one. Well, I should do that one too. Ok, fine, I might as well do the rest.

That sounds a bit like perfectionism, the trait that has fueled me for most of my life, all the way into burnout. I’m struggling to recognize that giving my all, all the time, isn’t sustainable, but here’s the unfortunate truth: it has achieved acceptable results many times, and I’ve only been utterly debilitated by overwork on a small handful of occasions. There you go, proof that perfectionism works.

My goal for August is to finish the book I’ve been “writing” for the last year. It hasn’t been constant work, because I keep falling out of love with my project, and although perfectionism demands I plug away at it every day, guilt allows me to avoid it for weeks at a time. August is when I will remind myself that I love this book and I want it to exist. The only way I can do that, though, is to tell perfectionism to take a hike.

My plan for success seems viable on paper. I’ll reward all my smallest achievements, and I’ll solicit encouragement from my friends. Every system needs a test run, though, so I sneakily began my August challenge on July 28, giving me four days to work out the kinks and find the pain points. I know myself pretty well by now, and I’m a whiny baby with very little will power (yeah, yeah, positive self talk, blah blah blah). The barrier to entry must be low, the kind I can step over without hardly picking up my feet, or else I’ll turn around and go back the way I came.

But in the three-and-a-half days of my test run, I managed to hit my main goals a majority of the time. For two out of three days, I read for 30 minutes, moved for 30 minutes, wrote one page by hand, and drank a whole growler of water (64 ounces). I’ve given myself a little reward for each task, comprising a food item or a leisure activity as well as a payment in the form of Monopoly money. I’ve recorded them in an old checkbook transaction register so I can see which rewards I choose the most, and to tally up my Monopoly balance. (I’m making bank on this system.)

Movement is proving the easiest to put off, despite implementing a fee system when I fail to do a task. Apparently, returning a pink piece of paper with the number 5 on it to the Monopoly bank isn’t as impactful as rewarding myself one. But I know myself, and I know my feelings on exercise. I won’t do a pull-up until I’m hanging off the side of a cliff. If there are zombies, I’m pretty sure I can jog for about 3.1 miles, but then they’re welcome to eat my brain.

This is the habit I’m going to struggle with the most, so I’m considering upping the reward and lowering the bar. Putting on my athletic shoes? $5. Twelve squats and a 30-second plank? $10. Actually leaving the house with the intention to walk? F—k it, $50, even if I turn around and go back in. It stands to reason I’ll actually follow through, because now that my shoes are on and I’m outside, I might as well do the rest.

I haven’t even mentioned writing, which is the main focus of the month, but I’m not as worried about keeping up that habit. I think about being an author all the time. My social media feeds are full of book influencers and indie writers. I wrote almost every day when I was working on my first book, and even now, I know I should be writing. The habit is in place. Now I have to actually make progress with it.

But I’m crossing my fingers that the lifestyle alterations will make the writing easier. I did choose them for that purpose, more or less.

• • Hydrating and exercising will improve my physical health; I’ll sleep better, feel better, and eat better, which I hope will provide the necessary energy.
  • Reading for pleasure will inspire me, either because I’ll read something that blows my mind, or (more likely) I’ll read something mediocre that reminds me I’m just as good a writer as they are. (Imposter syndrome who?)
  • Writing a page by hand will be my mini-battle against perfectionism. Something about distracting myself with the shapes of the letters lets the words flow more easily. I often find myself staring at the blinking cursor on the screen, but when there’s a pencil in my hand, it just keeps moving somehow. I don’t always have to write my story—sometimes the day calls for a stream-of-consciousness rant instead—but I’m always more productive when I write by hand. And once I’ve done one page, I might as well do another.

Tomorrow I’ll start the real thing, no more rehearsal. I’ll have a plan for the first week, something achievable that will get me about 25% closer to my draft being complete. I’ll hit my four daily goals as often as possible, because I want to, and because I get a little treat when I do. And when I fall short, I’ll adjust the metrics, because it’s about progress, not perfection.

Please follow along on my Substack this month, because encouragement is the other half of my rewards system. Tell me what your goals are so we don’t have to labor alone. Share photos of your pets so I remember there’s good in this world and it’s worth fighting for. Give me a pat and call me a good girl. In 35 years, I’ve learned that I don’t have the authority to tell me what to do, so having this accountability is going to make all the difference.