My nature is not overtly competitive. I let people in front of me on the freeway, I never cut in line, and I don't express my manhood with anything that could be remotely misconstrued as bravado. No, I'm, by and large, a passive and accommodating guy. But with my builds, it can be another story.
Internally, I strive for excellence. It's as if the competition resides solely within me rather than manifesting against an external competitor. Can I do better than last time? Can I exceed my own expectations? Can I be better than, well, me?
This attitude is both a blessing and a curse, as are many traits associated with ego and achievement. On the one hand, my drive to do better each day keeps me motivated and capable of doing what I set out to do. And I like to think I am good at what I do, and this comes from putting in the work. So, in this respect, I can do what I do because I work at being more.
But the devil is in the details, as they say. And I often put more time into things than necessary, slowing my overall workflow and leading to delays. Sure, a job worth doing is worth doing right. The thing is, "right" doesn't always mean perfect. Often, good enough is just what the job calls for.
I've written about this topic before, but it came to mind again when I repaired a busted mailbox post for a friend. I needed to do a quick fix, and so I did. But not without a degree of consternation.
The post had rotted out and broke off at the concrete sidewalk it was embedded in. It was a single post with two boxes like those often seen in neighborhoods with close houses and condominiums. All the wood had termite holes, and I wanted to rebuild the whole thing. But there was a catch. The mailman refused to deliver her mail until it was replaced correctly. And I didn't have the time for a lengthy rebuild.
A total replacement would mean sourcing the wood, building the thing, busting out the old concrete, repositioning the new post, and pouring new concrete. It would be messy and take a couple of days. So, after checking out the options, I decided some of the existing wood was salvageable and set about doing a just-good-enough repair as a stop-gap.
It was pretty simple. I picked up a 4x4 beam at the local hardware store and cut it to an appropriate length. To get around busting out the concrete, I tenoned the post to fit snuggly in the existing hole. The table saw made quick work of shaving the edges for the tenon, and I finished it all up with a wood chisel and a quick sanding. I also beveled the top edge to clean up the look a bit.
After drilling the holes for the cross-members and testing the fit, I took it back apart and drove it to my friend's house.
Getting the old, rotted wood out of the hole was easy enough. I broke it up with a steel bar and used barbeque tongs to fish out the debris. The new post fit nicely in the hole, so I remounted the cross-members with boxes attached. Finally, I locked the post in tight with a few plastic shims, and after several taps on the top to drive it in, I was finished.
But it drove me crazy to leave it like that.
Temporary fixes are inherently imperfect, and doing one grates on my perfectionist tendencies. Sure, the new post looks nice enough, but the bare wood will be a termite magnet. (If left untreated, it will last maybe a year.) And the cross-members, while salvageable for now, will soon succumb to those pesky insects, too. In all, it feels like I left the project incomplete. So I must remind myself of the point: to get the mail delivery resumed. And in that respect, mission accomplished.
But still, I wanted to do it right, and maybe even better than right.
I really wanted to weld a cool minimalist post from steel. Or take the time and make a perfectly square one using redwood. But, alas, now was not the time for such excess. No, this was the time to get the job done and save the nitpicky fussiness for another time. The saving grace is that I suspect I'll get the chance to do the complete replacement in the not-too-distant future.
Such is the nature of doing a mediocre job.
Until next time.
JRC
Being an innate perfectionist, I empathize. However, a lifetime of dealing with the need to adopt a philosophy that perfect is indeed the enemy of good enough, I eventually came to accept that strategic approach for most endeavors. This led to an unexpected outcome…when I occasionally give vent to my need for perfection, I achieve an emotional high that would likely otherwise be unattainable in a steady state world where perfection was the norm. It’s like lobster. If I ate it every day, it would not taste nearly as good as it does the few times a year I indulge. :-)