I grew up in a house where there was only a “right” way to do things. To say there was a right way and a wrong way would have implied that we had a choice.

We didn’t.

My father can do anything, and that which he chooses to do, he does well. 

The right way.

This has worked out incredibly well for my mother, whose taste has always far exceeded her budget.

 She would dogear pages of Architectural Digest with floors, mantels, gazebos she loved, and my father would build them.

Just. Like. The picture.

In the 70’s when every other kid had boxed, plastic-mask Halloween costumes, ours were magnificent with lights powered by battery pack harnesses or Disney quality accessories crafted from paper mâché.

When my parents were young, he would wallpaper almost annually and reupholster the furniture to match whatever she saw on the cover of Better Homes and Gardens.

He did this because he loved to. He did it “right” because it was his way – because he could never abide doing anything “half-assed”.

But my father is not a perfectionist.

I say that because doing it right has never held him back, slowed him down or caused him to compare himself with others.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t made that way.

While my patience for people is almost infinite, my patience for tasks has always been less so.  And though I count myself lucky to have inherited many of my father’s talents, on me they play out a bit more MacGyver-y.

If there’s a hack, I’ll find it.  

My motto was always “biggest impact – least effort” and in many ways it’s served me well.

But unlike my dad, I grew up caring deeply what people thought of me.

I compared myself to everyone and anyone – and NEVER stacked up.

And my need for the outcome to be perfect – to be worthy – crippled me for much of my life.

THAT is what perfectionism looks like.

Somewhere in my early 40s I started working on it, I listened to the gurus who told me

80% today is better than 100% tomorrow,

And

Done is better than perfect.

I listened to my own motto – biggest impact with the least effort – and life started to change.

But there was always something lacking.  Something about the passion I feel for a good hack, the hidden pride I take in my spit-and-bubblegum solutions.

This morning I read an email from which held a quote that copped from a TV show I’ve never seen…

“half-ass, full heart, can’t lose”

And there it is.
(sorry Pop)