A few days ago I decided to make some cinnamon rolls for the sixteen sleepy students in my freshman seminar. Each week students lead a literary discussion, and when it’s your lucky week, part of the responsibilities involve bringing food. Sure, I could buy a box of cookies from the Huddle Mart, but I love to bake and I didn’t want to study anyway. So I gathered armfuls of ingredients and prepared the Lewis kitchen for the onslaught of flour. A friend offered to wash dishes. It seemed like a fun way to spend an evening.
Two hours later I was crying, holding a sticky glob of dough in my hand, my hair straggled and damp around my face. It wasn’t working. The cinnamon rolls were coming out flabby, oozy, unappetizing. I couldn’t put those on the baking sheet. I couldn’t serve those to my classmates.
Time and time again I tried to hurl the dough in the garbage can, only to be stopped by the aforementioned friend.
“Stop,” he said.
“They look terrible.”
“Stop giving up.”
This situation is a microcosm of what it means to be perfect. Students at Notre Dame are all too familiar. Even the happiest, skinniest, prettiest, smartest girls. Everyone has tanked an Orgo exam, lost their breath running the mile, forgotten a presentation, even botched a batch of cinnamon rolls. The cure to perfectionism? If I had it, I’d be a millionaire. But I can offer a few tips, from life experience and conversations with my counselor.
1. Meditate: No, I’m not a new-age hippie with moldy feet and flower crowns. But just a few minutes of closed eyes and deep breathing can slow the heart rate and provide much-needed relaxation and peace of mind.
2. Listen: If friends and family tell you it’s going to be okay, pay attention. You may claim they don’t understand your calamity, that their optimism is sickening, but chances are they’ve been there before. Take compliments, accept advice, and be ready to return the favor in time.
3. List: Feeling inadequate midst your club officer-varsity athlete-Dean’s list friends? It helps to make lists. Take out a scrap of paper and write your talents, however small. Can you hula-hoop, fly-fish, or decipher Shakespeare? Write it. It isn’t mollycoddling, however. Start a separate list for flaws–ones that can be fixed, mind you. This can help set attainable, realistic goals and serve as a necessary written reminder.
4. Adapt: Possibly the most important. Difficult situations are often unavoidable, but it’s easy to dig a trench around yourself if you maintain the status quo. Making the best of things is a victory on its own. Accept small failures, and use the pent up energy and anger to fuel constructive improvement.
As for me and my baked debacle, it took a while to calm down and persevere, but I did. And you know what? The cinnamon rolls were sweet, warm, and delicious. Sure, they didn’t look great–but perhaps that was my fault for baking from scratch.