What rewards lie in store when we pick the path of imperfection?

Several years ago, I took a 3-day coaching training. About halfway through, the facilitators told us, “Now, think of a song you know well. In a moment, we’re going to ask you to take turns standing up here and singing in front of everyone.” As you can imagine, a flood of panic spread across the room.

After watching everyone squirm for a minute, they came clean. They weren’t actually going to make us get up and sing. Phew! Rather, they wanted to give us a felt experience similar to our clients’ when we offer them a practice that takes them out of their comfort zones.

(Later, during my PhD, I learned that singing in front of strangers is so predictably anxiety-inducing that psychology researchers have used it as a task in lab studies when they want to induce anxiety!)

During the next morning’s check-in, a man with some grey stubble spoke up. “Last night I sang a song for my 5-year old granddaughter for the very first time. I don’t have a good voice, but she didn’t care. She loved it. She wanted me to keep singing again and again.” He became emotional, fighting back tears. “I never would have shared that special moment with her if it wasn’t for the exercise yesterday. It made me question what might be waiting for me on the other side of my fear.” 

Singing is on my mind this week because I recently received the link to this video.

Every Monday during term time, my daughter and I go to a singing circle. It’s not for children. It’s for adults with children. (A very important distinction also found in the amazing work of Mothers Who Make). So there’s no nursery rhymes allowed. Only folk songs, with the occasional popular tune thrown in for good measure. The video is our first concert. Pick any point at random and you’ll see immediately it’s a bit chaotic to say the least. Babies crying. Children running around. Singers coming and going mid-song. Just like the grandfather’s lullaby, objectively imperfect. AND perfection isn’t the point. 

The magic of the singing circle was apparent from the very first time my daughter and I showed up over a year ago. We were welcomed by name with beautiful harmonising. As the waves of sound washed over me, I almost cried. Children were running around, stealing each others’ toys and climbing on chairs. But the space was so steeped in soul. And in that moment, I felt a deep soul craving was satiated.

Reflecting on this, it occurs to me that there are two distinct approaches to creative pursuits. (Actually, I’d say it’s a spectrum but for the sake of simplicity I’ll focus on the two poles). 

The path of perfection says there is a right way and a wrong way to perform this craft. This is the path of ballet dancers, Michelin star chefs and Shakespearean actors. The path of perfection requires commitment and dedication and the results are elevating, transcendent and awe-inspiring. It stretches our imagination and challenges what we thought was possible. I’ll never forget seeing Abida Parveen perform at the Southbank Centre in 2017. Pure bliss. But an important part of the path of perfection is that it puts the performer on a pedestal. The glamour is only made possible by a certain remoteness. 

In contrast, the path of imperfection says this is real life. Messy. Gritty. Human. Vulnerable. This is the domain of the amateur. Of Moth storytellers. Of dance performances at friends’ weddings. Of homeless photography calendars. The point is not to achieve technical excellence but to experience meaningful human connection. 

Throughout my childhood and adolescence I sang in choirs: church choir, school choir, show choir. In those environments a lot of attention was paid to the technical aspects of singing well. I think most creative pursuits are taught from the path of perfection. The need to grade students translates into a focus on the quality of the outcome and a forced hierarchy. This comes at a real cost. It perpetuates the idea that if you’re not really good at something you shouldn’t do it. So people opt out. Sometimes for life. And that is a tragedy. For many reasons, but a major one is all the unrealized potential connection available when we follow the path of imperfection. 

I find it helpful to contrast the way singing is typically taught in schools, to how certain cultures have embedded singing into everyday life. In Wales, “singing is in [the] people as sight is in the eye.” They even have choirs at their rugby matches! It’s simply not the point whether you’re good or bad at it. The point is to connect. To express yourself and have a shared experience. 

So, in what ways have the paths of (im)perfection shown up for you? If you’re finding the path of perfection paralysing, know there is another way and the rewards are very real.