⏱️ Read time: 6 minutes
I first heard about something I like to call the “B+ finish” back when I was building houses. Maybe it came from my boss, or maybe I made it up — I honestly don’t remember, but that doesn’t matter.
Here’s the gist:
Perfection takes time. It demands precision and patience — sometimes bordering on obsession. But when you’re juggling timelines and budgets, that kind of commitment isn’t always feasible. So more often than builders admit, you learn to let a few blemishes be. Aim for solid work. Clean lines. No shortcuts — but no rabbit holes either. A product you can be proud of and still finish on schedule.
Call it a solid B+.
At the time, it was just a strategy for getting things done. But over the years, it’s taken on a deeper meaning for me. A life philosophy, even. Albeit typically referenced in slight jest.
Because for most of my life, I didn’t know how to aim for anything other than A+.
If I wasn’t going to win, I didn’t want to try. If I wasn’t 100% sure I’d be the best, I wasn’t willing to even put myself in a position to lose.
Trying meant risk of failure. And failure… well, you should know about my relationship with fear and failure by now.
So instead, I bailed. I didn’t put myself out there. Or if I did, I self-sabotaged. Made sure to blow it up before anyone else could. Because at least that way I was in control.
There’s so much pressure when you’re striving for excellence. So much competition. Such a high likelihood of failure. Which, for me, means fear is present.
Fear of being exposed.
Falling short.
Being ordinary.
For the longest time, I couldn’t handle it.
So I drank. I got high. It helped ease the pressure. It helped me blend in with the crowd that was too cool to care about trying, not to mention winning.
Sobriety has taught me that trying doesn’t have to come with self-inflicted pressure. That there’s value in showing up, even when the outcome is unknown. That striving can be rooted in joy and integrity — not just in fear.
But that only came after I had to unlearn something deeper.
I used to think effort only mattered if it guaranteed results.
If it didn’t lead to praise, results, or success — what was the point?
Eventually, I had to reckon with this:
Trying and winning are not mutually exclusive.
Sometimes effort leads to reward. Sometimes it doesn’t.
But trying only to win?
That’s a setup.
It turns the act of trying — something inherently human and noble — into a transaction. A conditional contract with the universe:
“I’ll give this everything I’ve got… but only if you promise me it’ll work out.”
That mindset poisons the process.
It shrinks my world.
Because now the effort’s not about growth or expression or discovery — it’s about outcome.
About payoff.
About proving something.
And when the win doesn’t come? Because oftentimes it won’t.
The fallout is brutal.
I feel duped. Betrayed. Like I should’ve never tried at all.
Even worse, it confirms my deepest fear:
“See? I was never good enough to begin with.”
So I stop trying. I play it safe.
I call it being “realistic,” or say “it’s just not the right time,” or “it wasn’t really my thing anyway.”
But deep down, I know — I didn’t stop for any of those reasons.
I stopped because the result didn’t arrive on cue.
In other words: I didn’t control the outcome.
But that’s the thing, right?
Trying only to win isn’t really trying at all — it’s performing.
It’s chasing gold stars.
And once effort gets tied to outcome, it’s much harder to show up with passion.
It’s a trap.
Because when trying becomes nothing more than a means to an end — the medal, the praise, the validation —
it stops being practice.
It stops being human.
It becomes more show than soul.
So these days, I’m aiming for B+.
Not because I don’t care.
Not because I’m lazy.
But because I’m done pretending perfect is the only version of good.
Done tying my worth to someone else’s standards.
At work. In parenting. In my creative life.
That doesn’t mean I don’t push myself. Or that I don’t care deeply.
It just means I won’t let perfectionism keep me from doing the damn thing.
It means I show up, give what I’ve got, and let that be enough.
Don’t waste your breath to save your face
When you have done your best
And even more is asked of you
Fate will decide the rest.
I can’t control how things turn out. All I can do is meet the moment — honest, flawed, and willing.
But aren’t there times when outcomes really do matter?
I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that some situations call for going all in for the win.
Learning to recognize those moments — the ones truly worth pouring myself into — is something I’m still figuring out.
It usually happens when I’m in tune with my heart. Sometimes I get lucky and fall into the flow without trying, but more and more, I’m learning to pick up on the signs.
Strangely, even though it feels more cerebral than somatic, it’s often perceptible in a physical reaction. A spike in heart rate. A subtle gut feeling. A flinch for no reason. Or that classic example: when a special someone walks into a room and your whole body tingles.
It makes sense that I’ve struggled with this — my relationship with my body was… disconnected, to say the least. So I’ve got some ground to make up.
But I’m okay with that. I’m learning how to listen again.
And what I’ve learned so far is this: the real value in knowing what’s worth the fight — and letting everything else be good enough.
Because B+ ain’t bad.
In the end, it’s all about learning to live with being human.
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From the next post: The Unicorn
”I used to think glory was all about the big, loud, celebratory moments — the stuff you chase but never catch.
Turns out, true glory — and love — comes much quieter.”
IF YOU’RE STILL READING, THANK YOU.
Believe it if you need it,
If you don’t, just pass it on.
— ZD
About the Author
Zach Dutra is a husband, father, and conservationist who works a day job doing his part to support a healthier planet. By night (after the kids are asleep), he writes about the messy, meaningful path from addiction to recovery—and what it’s teaching him about love, responsibility, and showing up. These days, you’ll find him chasing his kids, riding his bike, or meandering through the mountains of Colorado’s Western Slope. He considers addiction the greatest gift he’s ever received.
Tags: #sobriety #parenting #mentalhealth #recovery #reflection