Sometimes, just as it did this past Sunday night, the snow falls peacefully onto the ground, coating it with a soft, untouched layer of powder. I’ve always thought that if perfection could be embodied, it would take on the form of freshly fallen snow. Like the snow conceals the ground beneath, perfectionism is all-enveloping — a blanket that covers one’s less-than-perfect clutter and mess.
But freshly fallen snow never stays perfect for long. Inevitably, it gets disturbed in some way, by a herd of deer making its way across campus or a student taking a shortcut through a yard to get to class on time. Maybe, like snow, perfection is elusive and fleeting. But if perfection is so unattainable, why do I hold myself to such high standards?
As I near the end of my four years at Dartmouth, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to unlearn my own perfectionist tendencies, which has proven to be more difficult than I had initially thought. I whisper sayings like “done, not perfect” and “work smarter, not harder” under my breath, often to no avail.
Perfectionism is sneaky, often masquerading as other traits that we’ve deemed valuable as a society. I’m “hard-working” because I won’t allow myself the opportunity to fail. I’m “determined” because I won’t accept that some things are just impossible. I’m “optimistic” because I know that there is always another option — one that’s better, more efficient and, well, perfect. However, it is also true that I can credit many of my achievements to my perfectionist tendencies. My obsession with the smallest details has made me thoughtful and intentional. It has taught me how to work hard, spending hours on one thing or another to ensure that it is the best that it can be.
My perfectionism stems from a deeply rooted belief that everything can be better than it currently is. And I truly do believe that we can work toward building a better world. But is a more perfect world really a better one if you must martyr yourself to achieve it?
I’ve struggled with this all-consuming aspect of my perfectionism. Though I wouldn’t be the first to call myself stubborn, I’m deeply committed to this idea of being better and doing better. But I’ve often run into moments where I sacrifice my own time, energy and wellbeing for the sake of doing better. Whether volunteering to help with projects I don’t have time for or taking classes that are well out of my league, I sometimes over-exert myself for the causes I care about.
There are times when this self-sabotaging behavior has gotten the best of me, when I’ve felt frustrated and sad, getting angry at the world around me. It has left me so stressed and rigid that at times, I have snapped from the pressure of it all.
Perfectionism is also woven into Dartmouth’s culture. This really isn’t a surprise, considering the hyper-competitive nature of the admissions process. It often feels like you had to have been the perfect student in high school to earn a spot here — and even then, there was still an element of good luck.
It’s only natural that the same competitive atmosphere replicates itself here in daily practice. We regard our classmates highly when they balance impossible academic workloads while leading multiple student organizations and still finding the time to secure the most competitive job opportunities. We place value on finding easy classes, or “layups,” that help us maintain our “perfect” GPAs. We comment, “You’re so perfect!” under photos that our friends post on social media — something we consider to be one of the highest compliments they could receive.
I often think about what a world it would be if we all just cared a little less about our own perfection and gave ourselves the freedom to simply try something new. There’s a very real possibility that you would no longer be perfect — whatever that even means — but perhaps there is something to be learned from failing.
I think back to the pristine blanket of white snow on the ground. Its perfection is temporary, and perhaps that is how it should be. This past Sunday, I watched as students from all corners of campus came together with laughter and spirit to mess up the perfection during the annual snowball fight on the Green. The snowball fight is one of my favorite traditions on campus, and every year I fall in love with the spirit of Dartmouth students — and their spontaneity and enthusiasm — all over again. It is a moment I consider perfect, and yet, it’s only made possible by destroying what I once deemed just that.
I no longer strive for perfection, but I think that’s okay. Spending less time trying to be perfect leaves me more time to appreciate other things. I can choose to get out of my own head and stop drowning in worries about myself, my actions and what my future will be. I can choose to be kind, to see the beauty in the world around me. I can listen to the pitter-patter of the footsteps of a chipmunk as it leaves footprints in the snow. I can hear the whispers of the wind shuffling through the trees.
