Slow as molasses in January. That’s me. (Especially on a January day like today where the temperature will be -27 C.) I like to be sure. My tendency is to “sell no wine before it’s time.” I write, rewrite, and change a word here, a word there. Leave it for a day and revisit it the next to tweak some more. In other words, I strive for perfection. Perfection is weighty. It presses heavily on my shoulders, keeps me still. It stresses the body and suppresses forward motion. It repeatedly asks, “What if this work isn’t good enough?” Understanding perfection has been part of my creative process. This year, I…