Painted my nails tonight. Every time I do this, I think I’ve got enough coverage. I go over and turn on a better light, look them over. “Looks okay,” I think. I used the little magnetic wand and made a nice shimmering stripe across each one, diagonal from the corner. It’s nice. Thinking I have enough coats, I put on a top gloss and wait for them to cure.

Not half an hour later, I notice all the thin spots where I could have used another coat. I know that most people won’t notice unless I point it out, or if they do, they’ll be too polite to mention it. It’s good enough, really. It looks nice, even. I just wish I’d given it one more pass.

It’s the same as anything, really. I finish a project and all I see are the flaws. That’s not quite right; the flaws are not all I see. I see what works, and I see what I like about what I’ve done, but I focus on the flaws. I read one of my old stories or watch an old video, and I can’t help thinking of what I could have done differently. Better phrasing, funnier jokes. And I know it’s a common experience.

I try to let it motivate me. I tell myself that I can do better next time. To an extent, that’s true. My instinct was to give my nails another coat, I just checked them under the wrong light and called it good enough. Surely, if I can recognize the flaws in my work, I can fix them. I’m not aiming for perfection, because I don’t really believe in it, but I can at least do the work of improving. But then I start to second guess even that, and remind myself that improvement is not a primary goal, but rather a natural part of the process itself.

I don’t know. I’m not feeling as neurotic as this post would suggest. I guess I’ve been thinking about the process of creative work a lot lately. The habits that I try to cultivate that lead to finishing projects. The habits I fall into that lead to months or years between bursts of output.

A habit (or flaw, or trait?) that I’m not going to break anytime soon is my trouble with the bottom half of a blog post. I always feel pressured to wrap it up in some meaningful way, and I think my posts often suffer for it. In my heart, I don’t think it’s necessary, or even possible some of the time.

I think I just need to get more comfortable with the medium. Most of the writing I’ve done in my life has been fiction, and most of that I haven’t shared with anyone. What I need, or want, from blogging has changed over time. One thing hasn’t changed, though: no matter how many coats I apply, I will always get polish on my skin.