Alan C. Fox

I used to be a partial perfectionist.

I say “partial” because certain aspects of my life, such as my clothing, weren’t especially important to me and I didn’t need them to be perfect.

I say “perfectionist” because often I would settle for nothing less than that ideal. In high school I wanted the highest grade in every class. When I began practicing law I wanted each letter or agreement to be perfectly composed and perfectly typed, and that was in the days before word processing equipment made at least the typing relatively easy.

After a few years running my own law office I learned the hard way that I was a hopeless prisoner of perfection. Some of the troubles I encountered in that particular trap were:

1. Perfection was costly. I was paying my secretary a lot of money to retype letters so they had absolutely no visible erasures.

2. My output was less than perfect because perfection took a lot of time.

3. I was always dissatisfied with my own work and the work of everyone else in my office. This meant work wasn’t much fun either for them or for me.

4. I procrastinated. When I faced a new project, such as handling my first probate, I was afraid I wouldn’t do it perfectly. So I put it off for so long that my client finally took the file to another attorney.

5. I often fell short of my goal. I found that I couldn’t be perfect— at least, not very often. I was disappointed in myself. I was a failed perfectionist.

A year or two later I realized even more fully that the quest for perfection carries a high price. When I bought my first office computer, an IBM 5110, I needed software so I hired Peter, a young computer programmer.  He was a robust perfectionist.

Peter began work in March. For months we worked together into the night. Peter was marvelous. Every week he invented a new shortcut or proposed an even more elegant algorithm. Peter was a genius, and I was certain that eventually he would create a program that would be the envy of the industry.

 “Eventually.” Spring passed into summer. Soon it was Thanksgiving and we seemed no closer to using the wonderful product of Peter’s inspiration than we had been in March.

“Peter, when do you think you’ll be finished? We’re going to have to start using the computer in our business.”

“Just a few more months. I’m working on some entirely new functions which will really speed up the processing time.”

“Okay, but we really need to finish.”

Peter programmed on. And on. Nights and weekends he haunted our office. I found him hunched over the miniature video screen at 7:00 a.m. Monday morning and at 11:00 p.m. Saturday night. Takeout bags from McDonald’s littered his desk. Peter was a workaholic.

Perfectionists often are. They have to be.

On December 15th I faced a decision. Either we would begin using our computer, which had now been sitting in our office for almost a year, on January 1st, or our accounting department would have to spend the next three weeks preparing manual records and forms for the new year. I talked to our extraordinary programmer.

“Peter, the computer goes live on January 1st.”

“No way.”

“We’re going to do it.”

“Alan, I don’t see how.”

“Peter, we have to start using what you’re working on. If we don’t, I’m going to immediately have to start three people preparing manual records for next year. And if we don’t start using the computer in January we’re going to have a horrible mess trying to combine the first few months of manual records with computer accountings for the rest of the year.”

“I understand, but I want to make the program as good as it can possibly be. I need more time. Maybe by March 1st,” he offered.

“January 1st. Not negotiable. If it’s less than perfect, so be it.”

Peter sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The following January 7th we went live on our new computer. The programming gods must have been smiling because the transition was surprisingly smooth. Our new program was certainly less than perfect, but it worked just fine.  Happily, we had moved past perfect.

When my daughter Heather was six she came into my den to visit, and showed me two of her drawings. “This is the fast drawing, and this is the slow drawing,” she said.

“Is that because you drew one fast and one slow?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I liked both drawings. Heather liked to have fun, and was not concerned with perfection. As a result, I think she came closer to perfection than I did.

I have nothing against perfection, especially when I’m flying at 37,000 feet in an airplane. But I know that my life is more fun, and more productive, when I am able to Get Past Perfect.

Alan

I am working at my desk. I hear a soft chime, and up pops an e-mail from one of my investors. He’s asking the same question he has already asked me three times in the last two months ago. It would take me an hour to research and answer his question, just as it would have taken me the first time he asked. Now my investor is upset and I am under increasing pressure to perform. What to do, what to do?

Delegate!!