The Quest to Be Better Makes Me Worse
How My Inner Overachiever Sabotages My Joy—and What I’m Learning From It
Seeking. I am always seeking something better, newer, funnier, happier, stronger, faster, and so on, in every task and situation in life. Seeker for something ending in er. That’s my jam.
Yes, improvement, I get it, and I’m all for it. But what if my constant desire to be “er” is getting in the way of experiencing “in the moment” joy?
When I landed in front of my easel today, I really tried to empty my head of preconceived ideas so that I could “paint from my soul,” or something similarly lofty-sounding. I was working with a tiny 10x10 canvas that I painted last year, but did not finish. It was not a blank canvas, but rather it was painted solidly in a medium purple with some nice texture.
As I stood there ready to start, I was consumed with thoughts about how I could improve my skills and creativity beyond my last painting, Letting It All Out, and a my last post (Painting As If You Don’t Give a F*ck) where I questioned my fear of myself and my ideas.
With palette knife in hand, but not quite ready to put down the first stroke of paint, I wondered what it would be like if I weren’t constantly trying to one-up myself. What if I just complete something to my satisfaction and walk away without any analysis?
Is that even possible for me?
I am not sure, but let’s break this down and see where it leads.
My top three Clifton Strengths (if you haven’t taken the test, I highly recommend it) are Strategic, Competition, and Achiever. With strengths like those, it’s easy to see why I'm always looking to improve.
So, not a bad thing, right?
Well, yes and no.
I love my drive to improve constantly, but I also realize that in the relentless pursuit of improvement, there is much stress and few feelings of accomplishment. Once I complete something (a task, project, painting, or writing), I quickly begin strategizing on how to do it better the next time.
And if not for my “must improve always” nature, the topic of this post would be something completely different, but probably closely related. It’s a vicious circle that I seem to have no problem continuing.
So, the question is, do I need to make any changes?
Honestly, I'm not sure, so let’s examine the pros and cons.
The Pros of “Always Improving”
I always improve
Makes me think deeply and strategically
Keeps me challenged
The Cons of “Always Improving”
I gloss over my accomplishments
I chase satisfaction
I, ultimately, am never truly satisfied with what I create, do, etc.
Well, geez, there it is. “Must always be improving” is one more way I keep myself stuck in the cycle of self-sabotage. I was going to write self-abuse, but it seems too harsh, but with more thought, I think it is accurate.
I don’t use my quest for improvement in a healthy become a better person manner, but instead I use it to continually reinforce my belief that “I will never be good enough.”
The concept of improving upon one's abilities, in itself, is innocuous, but in my hands, it is dangerous.
Ouch, that hurts, and it exposes some hard truths. I know I’ve done much good work on myself, and it’s disheartening to be back in this place. Why can’t I just feel some shit and then be over it? Why is this healing thing so hard?
I don’t know the answers to either of those questions, but I have learned that healing is not a linear path, and for me, it’s an especially curvy, intertwined, and somewhat confusing one.
So, how do I turn this around? How do I improve myself?
Geez, I can’t believe I just wrote that! I just can’t stop wanting to improve myself, can I? No, and that’s okay, and not the issue here. What I can change, and what is the real issue here, is my relationship with the concept of improvement.
If the quest for improvement causes me sadness, worry, anxiety, or any other negative feeling, I will recognize that it stems from a place of sabotage and rekindling old wounds, rather than a genuine desire to improve. And when that happens, I will not reinforce old thinking. I will see it for what it is and move on.
Yes, yes, that sounds like an excellent plan! The key, and the challenge, though, is to be aware when it’s happening. I am not entirely convinced I will be aware, but my hope is that I will.
As I began to add paint to the small, square, purple canvas in front of me, I wasn’t feeling very confident about my painting skills, my creativity, or myself. I was a bit off, and I felt it strongly in my body. I was hoping the time spent with the canvas would shake all that out of me.
I was drawn to using purple and pink, and immediately set out in that direction. I struggled with the background, but then I found my zone in the background. I got very excited when I started mark-making and was curious to see where it would take me and how it would turn out. One of the most agreeable aspects of the painting process was the use of bubble wrap, which always makes me smile.
I finished the painting, liked it at first, then didn’t like it, and now I am not sure how I feel about it. I do love the painted sides, and I also love the colors, but ambivalence is what I feel most when I look at I Do What I Want.
The name of this painting is well-intentioned, and for the most part, it reflects how I felt while painting it. I really did do what I wanted without concern (well, maybe, there was a wee bit of concern) about rules or how it would be received. So, that was a big win.
Although I still felt off, emotionally and physically, it was still early in the day when I finished the painting. I felt like there was more in me to express and process on the canvas, so I cleaned up my painting tools and prepared to start a new painting. After working with a 10x10, I was eager to have more real estate to work with. I chose a 30x30 canvas and contemplated my first color.
It seemed like I was thinking about which color to start with for a long time, so, to speed it along, I did a “gut-check” to try to find some inspiration from how I was feeling: sad, mad, frustrated, and just blah. Black. I must use black.
I squeezed Carbon Black onto my palette, and I knew when I saw its beautiful, shiny darkness, my decision was a good one. I grabbed a large spatula and smashed the canvas with broad, angry strokes. Oh, it felt so good! I added more and more. With every stroke, tension, sadness, pain, and anger left my body.
Then, I added white in the same manner, and more emotions were thrown onto the canvas. I took a step back and noticed how good I felt, both mentally and physically, and knew what I was doing in those moments with the black and white paint was what me and my art needed. When I paint from that place, I am working from a true place of authenticity.
I want and need to spend more time in that place of wondrous joy.
After basking in the glow of my black and white moments, I began to think about the process of deciding what color I would add to my monochrome creation. It’s really not a formal process that I employ when choosing colors. More accurately, it’s a crap shoot. I wait for a color to pop into my head, and then I decide, yeah or nay. Blue was the color that was green-lighted to join the black and white party.
After the blue was added, I chose Yellow Ochre, which at the time I told myself was a “bold choice.” I loved how it interacted with the blue, black, and white, and congratulated myself on my color decision.
I was feeling very delighted with myself and my painting. Now that the bottom layers were in place, it was time for the “ordered” layers to begin. Once I release all that emotion onto the canvas, I typically find myself in a calmer, happier frame of mind, which enables me to be more playful and relaxed in my painting.
When I determined I was “done,” I sat down across from my newly completed painting and entered the admiration phase of my painting process. I don’t always make it to the admiration phase with every painting, though. Sometimes, the “I’m done, it’s okay, let’s move on” phase takes its place.
As I was smiling in admiration, happy with my creation, I noticed the familiar post-painting thoughts beginning to emerge.
It’s too much
There’s not enough contrast
Too many circles
Where’s the focal point
But, as I continued to stare at I Can Only Be Me, the thoughts began to sound softer, and I was able to quickly stomp them out of my head. It was a huge win, and I am proud of myself for it.
When I wrote my book, Perpetual Conflict, I created my paint and write process and have used it ever since. And I am still amazed every time I paint and write, how effective the process truly is. The painting is for my emotional expression, and the writing is my path to greater insight and understanding of myself. It’s a one-two punch that knocks me out in a good way, every time.
Thanks for being on this journey with me!
P.S. Here’s the book…
I lost myself trying to be what others wanted. Now, I create to find who I really am.
Perpetual Conflict is my illustrated memoir—a raw, unflinching journey through shame, grief, and self-abandonment. I picked up a paintbrush in the wreckage of my life, not to make art, but to survive. Each painting in this book is a snapshot of emotional truth—rage, release, hope, reclamation—followed by the words that rose from the canvas when I finally stopped hiding. It’s chaotic, cathartic, and real. It’s how I found pieces of myself in color, texture, and honesty. If you’ve ever lost your way—or your voice—this book might help you find a little of both.