How to Not Be a Perfectionist by Molly Brodak

Poem of the Week, by Molly Brodak

In our pottery class we were warned that pots might fling themselves off the wheel, but it was still shocking when one of mine suddenly leapt into the air and smashed itself on the floor. I mushed it back together as best I could and returned it to the wheel.

Everything was going well (as well as anything can go when you are the beginningest of beginning potters) when suddenly POOF, the pot flung itself off the wheel again and this time landed on the window ledge.

Maybe the pot didn’t want to live? I wanted her to live, though, so I nicknamed her The Child and kept going. Maybe she could be a lopsided gravy boat, maybe a lopsided vase, maybe just a lopside. The Child made it through her first firing. I painted her and glazed her and dipped the rim again and everyone in the class blessed her and off she went for her final firing.

I’m a perfectionist in one way only and for that I’m grateful, because otherwise The Child wouldn’t be sitting in my kitchen now, making me smile every time I look at her.

How to Not Be a Perfectionist, by Molly Brodak

People are vivid
and small
and don’t live
very long—

Click here for more information about poet and memoirist Molly Brodak. Today’s poem was first published in New York Tyrant on November 25, 2017, as part of a grouping called “Three Poems by Molly Brodak.”

alisonmcghee.com
My podcast: Words by Winter

Poem of the Week, by Molly Brodak

Posted on February 26, 2022 by alisonmcghee

Check out our slew of spring workshops beginning next month, including our five-week Building a Story workshop.

Me to a friend who claims spell check is the only reason he can spell anything: So before spell check what did you do?

Friend: I would say the word out loud and then look through the dictionary trying to find it by first letter. So a word like psychology? I would begin with S and not find it, then I’d look through all the C’s even though I knew that it couldn’t begin with C. It was slow and agonizing. And all my papers came back with low grades and comments like ‘You really must learn to proofread.’

It hurts to think of this friend trying so hard on his papers and being met with scorn. This same friend will envision a 12’x20′ painting, build panels to paint it on, gather brushes and air compressor and broom and whatever else it takes to make it, then build a block and tackle to haul it up onto the wall.

When it comes to spelling, I’ve never had to work at all, and my essays usually got A’s, but if I ever made a painting it’d come back with “you really must learn to paint.”

Why are so we hard on others? Why are we so hard on ourselves? Dear Molly Brodak, I will be reciting this poem for the rest of my life.

How to Not Be a Perfectionist, by Molly Brodak

People are vivid

and small

and don’t live

very long—

For more information about Molly Brodak, please click here.
alisonmcghee.com
Words by Winter: my podcast