As a life-long perfectionist, anything less than 100 percent never felt good enough. Tutorials on perfection came early in my life. One afternoon when I was in fifth grade, I jumped off the school bus and skipped up our dirt lane to the house. The rusty screen door slammed behind me as I plunked my textbooks on the coffee table. I was eager to show my mother my history test. 97, A+. “Mom?” I called. “In here.” Her voice rang from the kitchen. Tiptoeing in, I placed my paper on the plywood kitchen table. Mom looked up, her face flushed with sweat. She smiled and wiped her calloused hands on…