Several months ago, I started a series of blog posts entitled “From There to Here.” (The series has since ceased. I’ve moved onto other topics.) The responses to it were interesting. Some people applauded it and thanked me for the reminder that their own all too circuitous paths had a purpose to them. Others saw it and were concerned. They thought that mentioning missteps, failures, and challenges could make people leery about working with me. They suggested I not share the struggles inherent in being a writer and artist.
Perfectionism is a constant companion. It can be quiet for days, weeks, sometimes even months. It’s biding its time, waiting to strike. When it does, it fights dirty. A kick or punch to the kidneys. An elbow to the center of the back.