Image by Victor Camilo on Flickr
I was writing a response to this insightful post from 
Anyway, the author was writing about perfectionism and how he used to be fixated on deleting all the errors and ironing out the wrinkles, metaphorically speaking, but he's since learned to make peace with and even embrace these errors.
I could relate to much of this, as I edit my writing obsessively and am constantly cleaning and organizing everything around me, including my to-do lists—evaluating the items on my list and checking boxes as well as adding and removing items.
While I have always been a perfectionist when it comes to my writing, this quality did not always seep into other areas of my life. In fact, when it came to keeping my living space clean and organized, I used to be kind of a slob (as my mom will attest).
But now I've grown to love all forms of cleaning and organizing. Such tasks give me pleasure and help clear my mind. Dusting is particularly satisfying. Don't we all have dust (mental, emotional, etc.) to clear?
And when it comes to writing, I believe that yes, the final product should be revised and edited until it is shiny and sparkling.
But at a certain point, I have to say, enough is enough. I also have to recognize when all this cleaning and organizing is distracting me from more important things.
Sometimes I'll realize I spent half my day engaged in tasks like replying to messages, cleaning my hairbrush, and arranging my cosmetics (or as a friend of mine once put it, she spent an hour making a to-do list when she could have just been doing the damn things!).
One solution I've found is lumping all these items into a category called "miscellaneous" and scheduling blocks of time to knock off as many of these items as possible. Where I need to be more disciplined, though, is making sure these items stay within the blocks and don't spill over into other activities.
Again, though, it all comes down to recognizing that enough is enough. In his book Present Shock, Douglas Rushkoff addresses the idea of "inbox zero"—that is, ensuring that you either address or delete all the items in your email inbox until you reach that desired state.
I definitely see the appeal of "inbox zero" and still spend an inordinate amount of time reading, deleting, and organizing emails. But, as Rushkoff points out, this goal is not a realistic one, nor is it a particularly good use of our time.
In the day of the "infinite feed," we must accept that we'll never fully get caught up with our emails and social media notifications, and trying to do so robs our energy from more fulfilling activities like creating, spending time with people we care about, and reading actual books.
It's just one more example of the "busyness" we engage in to distract us from the things that really matter.
Again, this is as much for myself as for those of you reading this.
They say "cleanliness is godliness," and while an aspect of god can be found in cleanliness, I seriously doubt that all that is divine and infinite can be accessed in folded socks and an up-to-date inbox, even though I sometimes fall for this illusion.
Another part of the equation is trust. Trust that the most important items will eventually get addressed, while the rest will naturally fade away over time.
As a college freshman—my first time away from home—I remember feeling constantly stressed and overwhelmed by the seemingly never-ending list of errands and to-dos. I even talked to my boss about this—she was a pastor and head of campus religious affairs, so not your typical boss.
A month or so later, she asked me how things were going. I said, "Much better. I just stopped doing all those errands."
I didn't mean I literally stopped doing them, but I only did things when they needed to be done and otherwise didn't worry about it.
If I were forced to look back on all the thoughts and beliefs and philosophies that I held in my teens and twenties, I'm sure most of them would be pretty cringeworthy, if not downright horrifying.
But that's one instance where I must have been on the right track.
