On the surface perfectionism sounds like one of those flaws you readily admit to because really it’s a modest way of saying, see, I’m not perfect after all, but really, I’m pretty close. Like you're admitting to being flawed like everyone else but that your particular vice is the relentless pursuit of having no vices. It’s like you’re saying, "no, really, I’m not the person you think I am. Sometimes I rescue too many kittens, or give too much money away.” Oh, me? I’m a perfectionist. Like you’re just too much of a good thing.

And you know when you stack that up against all the other crap that we sweep into the dark corners and hope no one will see, it’s pretty benign. But in the creative life, if what we’re talking about is the way we make things, and get things done, the idea of perfect and the quixotic search for it, is deeply self-sabotaging.