Perfectly flawed

A leading girls’ school in England is launching an exam where it’s impossible to get full marks, to prevent students becoming obsessed with being “Little Miss Perfect”. Oxford High School for Girls is introducing an online maths test with questions that become progressively harder. When the girl reaches the top of her ability she’ll face problems she can’t answer, teaching her that it’s OK to not get everything, always, right.

Helen Fraser of the Girls’ Day School Trust says the measure will help children understand that “being perfect is the enemy of learning”, reports Britain’s Telegraph newspaper. “For high-achieving girls… we need to ensure that their education helps them to become resilient, to encourage them to not be afraid to take risks and to be confident.” What counts is what they can learn from the process; that they don’t get upset when things don’t always go their way. Because in life it won’t. They don’t want women whose lives are held hostage by fear of failure.

Recent profiles of the Aussie PR supremo Roxy Jacenko and the English journalist Liz Jones revealed them both to be perfectionists, but at what cost? Jones on sex, which she finds far too stressful: “Because I have to be perfect. The only time everything would be right would be when I’d just had a wax, just had a tan, was the right weight – which was once in a blue moon.” Jacenko told one newspaper that a level of unpopularity is the price to pay for an uncompromising pursuit of excellence: “People don’t like perfectionists… I will say to you I am very, very, very obsessive. Very.” One of her mantras: “‘Good enough’ isn’t good enough. At all.”

Oh, I recognise it. Because the traits of a perfectionist straitjacketed my life once. Flogging novels to 60 drafts, honing articles until 4am, refusing to appear in public without a full armoury of makeup, positioning myself carefully under a bloke during lovemaking as if there were a camera watching from the ceiling – and, most tragic of all, being unable to really accept, dwell, in moments of happiness, to lie back in life and just bask.

Motherhood was a saviour, a vast loosener; it bashed all the tightness out of me because ultimately it’s about a loss of control. You have to surrender. The extraordinary thing is, now that I’m letting things slide for sanity’s sake – happy with “good enough” – my work’s stronger. More confident. There’s light within the intensity. A firmer footing in the world, more emotional resilience, the buoyancy of simple happiness – all thanks to messy, invigorating imperfection.

Nothing is perfect. No great work of literature, no business, no relationship. Shakespeare is such a colossus because he was deeply human, with a profound understanding of human frailties, his own as well as others. It’s what makes him such a vivid humanitarian. His works are full of irritations – long-winded, repetitive in places – but they live and breathe a wondrous light. My favourite works of art are often messy and flawed and unpredictable – losing their confidence at some point, finding their footing again – but crucially, they connect. Just like the best of life. As Leonard Cohen wrote, “Ring the bells that still can ring / Forget your perfect offering / There is a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in.”

http://www.theaustralian.com.au/opinion/columnists/perfectly-flawed/story-e6frg72x-1226684877271