The Imperfectionist

“You know those childhood memories that are burned so deep you can remember the shirt you were wearing, or the way the grass smelled? I’ve got a few: The Time I Fell Off My Bike Riding With No Hands; The Time I Couldn’t Keep My Balance On The Rope Tow And All The Skiers Stared.”

Sara Wachter-Boettcher | Content Strategy Consulting

You know those childhood memories that are burned so deep you can remember the shirt you were wearing, or the way the grass smelled? I’ve got a few: The Time I Fell Off My Bike Riding With No Hands; The Time I Couldn’t Keep My Balance On The Rope Tow And All The Skiers Stared.

But there’s a particularly unremarkable one that’s always haunted me. I was in the first grade, and we were making collages of cut-out magazine pictures to accompany the story we were reading. Except I wasn’t cutting anything out—I was just sitting there, vetoing every picture I came across. Nothing was good enough. Nothing lived up to the perfect collage in my head.

While everyone else shared theirs with the class, I just sat there, empty-paged and ashamed. I wanted to hide.

Two decades later, I was still hiding. It was 2008, and I was fumbling my…

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