My golf match reaches the final hole with scores tied. Whoever wins that hole wins the match. My pitch to the green leaves the ball just six feet from the hole. If I sink the putt I win. I read the line, determine the speed, place my putter behind the ball, and stroke the putt toward the hole. It rolls straight and true. Until just six inches out, when the ball curves left and misses.
We played an extra hole and I lost. Afterwards I felt so stupid to have missed that putt on the 18th green. It was only six feet. I could and should have holed it. But I didn’t.
But the odd truth – which I discovered later – is that many of the very best golfers in the world might well have missed it too. The American PGA Tour publishes statistics for all their top golfers on putts holed from various distances, including from six feet. Some players are remarkably good, like Brian Harman (who won the 2023 Open Championship) who holes 91.53% of six foot putts. But others, including the biggest names in golf, are nothing like so good. For example, Jon Rahm (winner of the 2023 Masters Tournament) holes only 58.57% of times from six feet. Almost half of the top 184 sink less than 7 out of 10 of their six foot putts.[1]
If highly skilled golfers often miss relatively short putts, why did I beat myself up because I missed a six foot putt?
The answer lies in what I call the tyranny of the perfect. I don’t compare myself to my fellow amateurs, not even to highly rated pro golfers. I think I should be the perfect putter. I should always hole a six foot putt.
The truth is that no-one always does that, but, foolishly, I think I should.
That’s the tyranny of the perfect. It persecutes me in all sorts of ways – imagining I should always be patient, always be generous, always work hard, always excel in every task, always appreciate what others do, always want to wash the dishes, always be happy to walk the dogs in torrential rain. Of course I’m not always any of these things, so I feel bad.
Unquestionably I should always aim to be the best, to think, speak, and act correctly. But I have to come to terms with the reality that I won’t always be that good.
I’ll set down a few ways to think about this:
- three negatives about perfectionism
- two examples of when nothing less than perfect will do
- finally a brief theological point
Perfectionism creates anxiety
Years ago I began work on a PhD with the University of Edinburgh. I’d already graduated in theology there, so I was on good terms with the faculty. One senior professor took me aside early on in my research work. “Alistair,” he said, “don’t be afraid to submit a chapter when you’ve done the work. There will always be more you could do, but you need to move on.” I owe that professor a lot. He was so right. I made steady progress through that degree, always knowing there were more books or journal articles I could have read, but accepting they wouldn’t have changed the direction of my research. But a perfectionist couldn’t have done that. The perfectionist would worry in case one more article might yield an important insight. And then there would be another article, and another, and another. Always anxious in case something was being missed.
Perfectionism causes inefficiency
My wife, Alison, remembers a near neighbour she once had. He was a keen gardener, so keen he worked endlessly on removing stones from his land. But his task was indeed endless – there were so many stones he never got round to planting his flowers and vegetables. Perfectionism made him inefficient.
The same was true for my friend Gordon who researched his doctoral thesis for five years without submitting a single chapter. His problem? He couldn’t let go of his work because he never saw it as finished. After six years he was warned about his pace of progress. The same happened after seven years, and eight years and nine years. He had drafted chapters, all excellent, but he kept refining each one. After twelve years Gordon got a final ultimatum from his university – ‘submit your thesis within the next academic year, or you get no degree’ – and after thirteen years he handed in his work. It was far better than acceptable; quite brilliant really. He got his doctorate. But he’d have been awarded his degree in a third of the time if only he hadn’t been a perfectionist.
Perfectionism forces people to become absorbed in detail to the detriment of getting work done efficiently.
Perfectionism limits performance
A figure skater practises and practises, and at last masters a quadruple Lutz. She focused on the quad Lutz because it’s extremely difficult and therefore one of the highest scoring elements. (The base value of a single Lutz is 0.60. The base value of a quadruple Lutz is 11.50.) Our skater worked up from the single Lutz to double Lutz to triple Lutz, and finally – after years of trying and failing – she succeeded with the quadruple. Surely our skater must now win every competition? But she doesn’t. Yes, she can pull off one of figure skating’s hardest jumps. But she has so concentrated on her quadruple Lutz, she’s neglected the Axel, the Loop, the Flip, the Euler, and the Salchow, important other elements in a figure skating routine. With those she’s just average. And being brilliant in one element but only average in the rest doesn’t win. Her perfectionism with the quadruple Lutz has limited her potential.
Likewise, cricket teams have specialist players, mostly bowlers and batters. But cricket teams don’t consist only of specialists. Other players are all-rounders, people reasonably good with ball and bat, but also excellent at catching, throwing, and running. Teams need players with many skills, not just one.
In life generally, most of us have to be all-rounders because focusing only on one thing neglects everything else. Perfectionism can limit performance.
However, having listed three negatives, I can offer two positives about perfectionism.
Perfectionism is sometimes essential
- If I was ever to make a parachute jump – which will be never – I’d want my parachute packer to be an out and out perfectionist. Someone who thinks a ‘nearly right job’ is good enough might kill me.
- If I needed brain surgery, my neurosurgeon had better have dedicated everything to be utterly brilliant. I don’t care if they can’t make a cup of tea, tie their shoe laces, or stack a dishwasher, as long as they’re an exceptional surgeon.
- If I was trapped beside a ticking bomb, I’d need to know that the technician working to diffuse the bomb is the best bomb disposal operator ever.
- If I was strapped in for a space flight, and the countdown has reached 5-4-3-2-1, I’m praying the aerospace engineers who constructed the rocket are the most detailed and careful people on earth.
You get my point. There are situations where it’s exactly right for someone to pour their attention and skill into just one area of work. In certain circumstances precision is an absolute requirement. – perfectionism not just desirable but essential.
Perfectionism is the inevitable instinct for some
I attended a Scottish Open golf tournament in Glasgow in the early 1980s. All day I walked the course, admiring the players’ skill. Finally, with the light fading, I headed back to my car. Right beside the car park was the practice range. There was only one player there – Nick Faldo. He was young but already well known. He’d played in several Ryder Cup matches and topped the European Order of Merit. He was already a successful golfer. But, while others had left the course or were propping up the bar, there Faldo was on the range. The sun was setting, but he was still practising. A great golfer, dedicated to becoming an even greater golfer. Which he achieved. He went on to win dozens of tournaments, including six ‘majors’ – the Open Championship in 1987, 1990, 1992, and the Masters Tournament in 1989, 1990, 1996. That’s more ‘major’ victories than any other European player has achieved since World War I. In the 1990s he was first in world rankings for a total of 97 weeks. When he finally retired from tournament play he began a significant career commentating on golf, and took up many other enterprises related to golf course design and developing young golfers. In 1998 he was awarded an MBE (Member of the Order of the British Empire), and then made a Knight in 2009, both awards ‘for services to golf’. Therefore he is now Sir Nick Faldo.
But his single minded devotion to golf came at a price. During matches he was so intense he hardly spoke to opponents or playing partners. He’s been described as having an insular focus that peers found less than endearing. That focus didn’t help his marriages either. The first lasted less than five years, the second for nine years, and the third for five. Faldo married his fourth wife in 2020.
Faldo’s great success as a golfer owes much to his perfectionism. It has cost him, but Faldo probably never considered any other attitude to golf. Utter dedication to his sport was how he had to live.
Similar commitments exist in other areas of life, such as:
- the person building a corporate empire that spans the world
- the academic whose whole existence is dedicated to study and book writing
- people who dedicate themselves to finding rare species of moths, or trek the world as ‘twitchers’ (bird watchers)
- those who commit all their attention to their families to the exclusion of any other activity.
Such people don’t have ‘interests’. Their goals are far more intense. Their focus is narrow. They could never be all-rounders. And their dedication to being perfect makes them very good in a single sphere.
Finally, then, a brief theological point.
Jesus said: ‘Be perfect… as your heavenly Father is perfect.’[2] That’s the standard. We shouldn’t aim for anything less. But, realistically, our lives will be less than perfect. Thankfully, the Bible also says: ‘If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves… If we confess our sins, [God] is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins.’[3]
So, when we don’t get things right, there can be forgiveness. For which I am profoundly grateful.
But sometimes the biggest difficulty is forgiving ourselves. That was my problem after missing my six foot putt. ‘I should have holed it’, I kept telling myself. I measured my performance against a perfect performance, and fell short. That’s the tyranny of the perfect. Yes, let’s always aim for the best. But let’s accept we’ll often fail. That’s realistic. It happens even to people far more proficient than we are. Sometimes we need to seek forgiveness from God or from others. And often we need to forgive ourselves. If we don’t, the perfect will keep on tyrannising us.
[1] Season 2022-23 statistics from https://www.pgatour.com/stats/detail/344 There are many other similar statistics on other pages on the PGA tour site.
[2] Matthew 5:48 (NIV)
[3] 1 John 1:8-9 (NIV)
Occasionally wise 