Moderation is not my strong suit. I oscillate between perfectionism and self-sabotage faster than the flapping of hummingbird wings. It's the worst version of barbell strategy, a concept that advises one to ignore the entire long middle of available options and instead focus on extremes for best results. But in this case the barbell isn't helping me to grow stronger. It's a painful weight that I need to shrug off.

My inner therapist is asking: What was your childhood like? Guess what, I was pretty perfect academically for a while, and I was also praised for my academic performance. Oops! A standout memory collage is when a single B+ in middle school prevented me from receiving some all-As-for-all-of-middle-school award at some awards ceremony. My mom was furious over this, going as far as to attack the teacher's character in private conversations. Mom! You know that the award doesn't matter, it's middle school! I was distraught over it myself at the time. This was her way of loving me? Hmmm. But, yes, message received: perfectionism is Good.

In high school, after emotionally hurting someone I cared about, my Extremely Logical thought process went:

• I would like to never severely emotionally harm anyone ever again.
• How can I achieve this?
• I can't harm anyone if I'm not around to harm anyone! I can simply... not... exist.

Fortunately we were all tasked that year with a hefty research project on a topic of our choosing. I chose teen suicide and learned so many great reasons to not not exist. I was never in any serious danger, my thoughts in that area never evolved beyond a 1 out of 10.

What is the story I'm gesturing toward? Is it true? Is it useful? Am I beholden to it? Is it beholden to me? How do I let go? Do I let go? I let go? Let go? Go?

Why are my essays so short?

I want to write about my life like the symphony that it is - that's my favorite sort of writing - but I roughly transcribe what I hear into sheet music and leave it at that. One of my favorite writers is so good at describing her flaws and her neuroses. I never think less of her for sharing these parts of herself, so why do I think others will think less of me when I do the same? What would it matter if they did?

I feel so far behind all of the time, any excuse to cast myself as the villain. Even that's too generous: villains are often redeemed and they hold a special sort of charm, keeping the courage of their convictions and imposing their will on others. Confronting my career, my finances, my low ambition, it all scares me. Cast me as one of the villain's nameless lackeys, terrified into submission.

I don't know where this impulse to put myself down comes from. A hypnotic focus on what I lack rather than what I have. A delusional individualism. A fear of too much ego. I've made so much progress and simultaneously I'm standing still! How is that possible? I'm living an optical illusion and I hate how much I love it. Pondering a koan is certainly easier than doing the work.

I'm very flawed and very beautiful. I love knowing about others' experience of life and I'm reluctant to share my own. I'm perfectly suited to do something, it's just a matter of finding the right opportunity. I've wasted much of my adult life and I didn't waste a single day. Think whatever you want of me or not at all.

Anyway, I'm good at self-improvement so I will simply self-improve at exploring the long middle between perfectionism and self-sabotage.