I have a confession: I’m an overachiever, and I’m insatiable. I love to play the underdog, wear the chip on my shoulder, feel like I’ve overcome some unfair handicap, and exceed everyone’s expectations. And it seems like I can never get enough.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a perfectionist who binges on external attention and affirmation – while denying myself anything more than a modicum of internal satisfaction of a job well done before moving on to the next item on my to-do list.
Thriving in school, and then work, has been an incredibly useful survival (and coping) technique for me. It has helped me receive the affirmation and affection, the messages of love, that I apparently didn’t receive enough of as a child. Teachers and professors became fathers and mothers to me, practically patting me on the head at each turn.
And then, like most (or maybe all) survival adaptations, my overachieving outstayed its welcome. I looked around at 28 and realized that my perfectionism had become a vestigial feature. It has led to my conveniently keeping others and love for myself at bay by continuously criticizing their (and my) imperfections. It left me with nothing but a salted earth where potential love once stood. It persevered beyond its full usefulness and became a distraction.
One factor in all of this? I live in Washington, DC, one of the gravitational centers for such ego-padding power in a national culture that encourages the hyperconsumption of achievement. And I see it everywhere – in conversations, on social media, in how DC citizens and workers walk, talk, and even breathe. Everyone is Doing something.
In short, I’m told to keep Doing and not sit still. Our culture is one that predominantly, ingeniously, and insidiously encourages me to believe that achievement is the sole avenue to salvation. My tasks and resume will set me free.
And yet, like an addict on the comedown, I’m always left feeling unsatisfied, unfulfilled, wrapped in mostly meaningless labor. I am, in a word, alienated.
So what do I do when all of my accolades have yet to result in more peace?
Here I think of the Chinese finger trap and how struggling to escape it only strengthens its hold. The thing is, I’m exhausted. So much fighting – and desperately trying to fill an insatiable hole with hits, no matter how high the dose – is tiring.
And yet, as a recovering overachiever, I find it difficult to do nothing, to – god forbid – relax a little, breathe, and continue to do nothing. I find it damned near impossible sometimes to simply listen and accept the inherent tension with all of my culturally- and personally-motivated impulses to Do, talk, move, and distract myself.
Maybe the road to peace, like escaping from the finger trap, is paved with letting go, submitting to what’s around us, and taking in the more subtle moments of peace that don’t leap from the page like the dramatic, operatic, and opulent displays that are currently privileged.
Maybe it’s about Being. Maybe it’s not – I don’t know. But what I do know is that, so far, Doing even more has yet to eliminate “Find more peace” from my task list.