I’m a Perfectionist Who Isn’t Good at Being a Perfectionist

I’m a 48-year-old man who doesn’t know what he wants to do when he grows up. 

Actually, that’s not quite true. A decade or so ago, I did one of those intensive, introspective, facilitated personal coaching things that end with a purpose statement for your life. Despite my chronic cynicism toward anything that smacks of discovering the secret to life, I actually found it quite helpful. I walked away from it with this: “Eric Schumacher exists to glorify God by showing people the beauty of Christ through writing, teaching, and storytelling.” Periodic personal reviews and peer input continue to affirm the accuracy of that statement. 

So it may be more accurate to say I’m a 48-year-old man who knows what he wants to do; he just doesn’t know how he wants to do it. But that’s not exactly true either. 

The problem is that “writing, teaching, and storytelling” are fairly expansive categories. And there are a lot of things I do (and want to do) within each category. I write devotional books, biblical theologies, prayer collections, and articles. I write songs for corporate worship, country songs, folk songs, and singer-songwriter stuff. I tell stories — I’ve written a novella, short stories, and songs. I teach through my writing, counseling, sermons, and coaching. I have a long list of projects that I dream of undertaking. I know what I want to do — all of it and more.

So it may be more accurate to say I’m a 48-year-old man who knows what he wants to do and how he wants to do it — he just doesn’t know where to start. Now, that is an accurate statement. 

My problem, or part of it, is that I’m a perfectionist who isn’t very good at being a perfectionist. A recent leadership assessment and retreat reminded me that I am a highly critical person with low self-confidence. I want my work to be excellent, but I genuinely doubt whether I’m good at anything. Imposter syndrome controls my default internal dialogue, leading me to believe I disappoint and underwhelm everyone (including you, dear reader). After releasing a book, publishing an article, writing a song, preaching a sermon, or wrapping up a counseling session, all I want to do is profusely apologize — to whoever I was supposed to be serving — and then find a cave to hide in until I die. (This, friend, is no exaggeration.) 

When you’re an introspective, introverted person with broad interests and lofty goals who is also highly self-critical but very low in self-confidence, it only leads you to one place: analysis paralysis. I don’t know where to start (and don’t want to start) because I don’t know which project will succeed. Over preparation and over analyzing lead me to do nothing except reach level 7,874 of Royal Match, all while listening to a hundred audiobooks.

This is where I found myself at the end of 2024. 

The start of a new year (and the fast-approaching new decade of my 50s) reminds me that life is short, moments are fleeting, and time is limited. I don’t want to waste my time. I want to do the work that counts — the work that, in my mind, will succeed. (And don’t get me started on what it means to be a “success” — that’s a book in itself.) 

And this is where Ecclesiastes met me and helped me.

“One who watches the wind will not sow, and the one who looks at the clouds will not reap” (Ecc 11:4). When it comes to farming, the weather matters. But if all a farmer does is watch the sky, he’ll never work the soil. Excessive scrutiny leads to inactivity. The perfect moment never arrives. And even if it did, what makes us think we’d recognize it?

Analysis paralysis flows from pride. While we may not be so bold as to claim omniscience, we still think we can make choices that guarantee success. We’re strong enough, we tell ourselves, to gather all the needed info, dissect it, and plot a course that won’t fail. The problem is, we are not.

In all our data gathering, regardless of the scientific advances of our day, there is always one piece of information missing: We don’t know what God will do. “Just as you don’t know the path of the wind, or how bones develop in the womb of a pregnant woman, so also you don’t know the work of God who makes everything” (Ecc 11:5). And what God determines to do is what gets done.

Our planning is no match for the Lord’s will (see Prov 16:9, 19:21, 21:30). But such an admission is no excuse for inaction. Quite the opposite, says the Teacher: “In the morning sow your seed, and at evening do not let your hand rest, because you don’t know which will succeed, whether one or the other, or if both of them will be equally good” (Ecc 11:6). 

Our inability to know what will succeed should motivate us to work hard at multiple endeavors. Sow in the morning; work hard on something else at night. Do your usual thing; take a risk on something new. You don’t know which will succeed. Maybe both.

Working hard, taking risks, and persevering in multiple endeavors is the energetic application of faith, in a healthy fear of the Lord: “When all has been heard, the conclusion of the matter is this: fear God and keep his commands, because this is for all humanity” (Ecc 12:13). 

At the end of the day, success does not matter — faith does. Faith knows that God will make everything right in the end: “For God will bring every act to judgment, including every hidden thing, whether good or evil” (Ecc 12:14). That assurance frees us to work hard — and risk failure. To those with analysis paralysis, the gospel says, “Take up your mat and walk.” 

Christ died for our sins and rose from the dead. Through faith in him, our guilt is gone, and our resurrection is guaranteed. Nothing in heaven or on earth will ever prevent, interrupt, or end God’s devotion to our good. No failure, not even one resulting in death, can separate us from the love of God in Christ. God is for us, not against us — and, therefore, we know he is working everything, our successes and our failures, for our good: “He who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil 1:6).

So, in 2025, I’m content to be a 48-year-old man who works hard at several things — not knowing if some, all, or none of those endeavors will succeed — because I know a Savior who has already succeeded on my behalf and has promised me an eternally bright future.