(Part one of a two part series on the plight of perfectionism)
I’m not perfect. I don’t even want to be perfect. I just want to be good. Not well-behaved good. Good as in good at. That doesn’t sound unreasonable, does it?
There’s dark green bush all around us; I can see it through the windscreen. I’m sitting between Mum and Dad in the Land Rover and I’m frightened. That’s my first memory and, for a long time, I didn’t know its origin. Was it a ‘false’ memory from the family’s stories of our baby days we loved to hear?
Can you recall the last time you received some constructive feedback whether at work or in your personal life? And how did you react to it?
Let’s face it – getting feedback, especially that which is developmental and in the ‘needing some work category’, isn’t always easy.
I like dancing – who doesn’t? So, one day after feeling as if I could become footloose on the dance floor again, I enrolled for a ballroom dancing class at the local grammar.A legacy of the Fifties and Sixties was that all of us could rock and roll – and even today if you listen to the original of Honky Tonk, your feel an irresistible urge to do it all over again.