If I ever get the fortune to have children, I pray they won’t be afflicted with perfectionism and obsessive compulsiveness like me. Attention to the details may have positives, but mental anguish definitely exists on the other side.
Perfectionism is a myth, is it not? Everything on this earth is experiencing atrophy. We’re all decaying at a certain rate, animate or otherwise. Putting a brand new car in a hermetically sealed chamber is only delaying the process. And now you can’t even use the car.
It’s with cars where my enthusiasm and obsessive compulsiveness collide into sleepless nights. Even though I know perfect is but a monetary phase when the car gets final released at the factory, it doesn’t stop me from trying to preserve it. But that’s just not possible! No matter how careful you are, as you interact with the car, where be driving it or maintenance, blemishes are bound to happen.
Most recently I replaced the glovebox on my Golf GTI. I wanted the nicely felt-lined version that my 2019 model did not come with. During the process I slightly mangled a piece of the interior plastic. Ask any other person and they would genuinely say it looks fine. But not me! I’ve been trying all sorts of remedies to realign the piece to just a bit more perfect, and every attempt seems to have compounded the issue.
Of course, the best solution is to buy the piece brand new. Good thing my psychopathy doesn’t permeate to personal finance. If I’d bought a brand new replacement piece for every time I merely scratched a part on a car - and yes, that does frustrate me to no end - I’d be a guest on Financial Audit.
The lesson I am telling myself is to know when to stop. Obsessing over the details is fine up to the certain point. I can’t let perfect get in the way of functional. Actions have reactions, and sometimes the pursuit of perfection (hello, Lexus) can only make things worse.
Old school eats.