‘Once upon a time in Cremona, there lived a person by name Antonio. He used to earn his livelihood by making violins, but being a perfectionist as he was, he used to take one full year to make a violin. His friends chided him, saying, “O mad man, how do you expect to eke out your livelihood if you spend a whole year to make one violin? Antonio replied, “God is the embodiment of perfection. Whatever He does is absolutely perfect. He will be pleased only when we discharge our duty in the most perfect manner. All my work will be an utter waste, if God is not satisfied!’
I read this from a Vedic site the other day, on the Sathyavathi mode of worship.
I sometimes feel that I am a victim of my own perfectionism – the desire to do whatever I do well. Playing in church the other day, I was struck- not so much by the satisfying resonance of my guitar, which after a little work and new Elixir strings sounded quite beautiful in the confined alcove where I was playing – but by the mistakes I was making through lack of skill and practice. The perfectionist hears the voice of God, and in his effort to reach upward, like the archer, misses the mark, and as such, he is inevitably flawed. And yet, in spite of this, something of glory, the sea of glass, the fragrance of the air of Zion found its way to me.