Writing is one of the hardest jobs in life for a perfectionist. Just when you think you have a good enough grip on the subject you want to articulate, a merciless gust of wind – that is, confusion, doubt, and fear – tears your ideas and your confidence to smithereens. The fragments of your beautiful daydreams are scattered all over the street like refuse.
And there you are, blinking in disbelief and wondering what on earth just happened. Then, of course, you think, “Now, how am I supposed to pick all of them up? And is it really worthwhile trying to fit them together again, since they’re all contaminated by the dirt of the street? I could brush the dust off and glue them back together again, but it just wouldn’t be same; I’d be able to see the cracks still… and I want perfection! But I’d hate to start all over again. Oh, why did that stupid wind have to come and ruin everything?!”