Perfectionism is ghost. I can’t catch it. Yet, I’ve tried to catch it more than I’d like to admit. My friend/co-worker admits she has chased this phantom, too. Last year we agreed to give up the chase. I tackled writing a book . . . for real this time. And she tackled esthetician school.
Yesterday we reflected on our success. During the discussion, she said, “I don’t know why I’m trying to be perfect. I think perfection is such a bore. But I look at my art and I get mad because it’s not perfect. It doesn’t match the image in my mind, not even the imperfect image.” She paused. “I guess what I want is to be perfect in my imperfection. I want to be wonderfully imperfect.”
This resonated with me. She’s right, perfection is BORING. I love that I run into doors. Well, that’s a lie. I don’t love it. I do think it’s funny. I don’t mind eating Mexican food and wearing A LOT of the salsa or cheese sauce on my shirt. I love to wear an array of colors that don’t go together until I put them on and finish the outfit with my smile. And I’m okay with saying the wrong thing sometimes. It gives me the opportunity to apologize, be humbled.
I’m not perfect. Don’t want to be perfect. I do want to know that I gave it my all. I do want to be the best me. The best me in my mind not what others say I must be. Anything less is a disservice to myself and others. But it’s hard to find that place where perfection and imperfection can meet and reconcile. It’s hard for me anyway.
But I do find it.
I found it in graduate school. I celebrated making a “B.” Shucks I made three. This was a huge event for an “A” student. I found it in friendships. Some friends will say I failed them. I know the truth. When they reflect, they will see I empowered them to solve their own problem.
As I reflect, I realize that most things have found their way to this wonderful place. Sure I have my moments when I’m miffed about my failure to add sugar to a cake (don’t laugh . . . okay laugh; it was funny). But I put things in perspective (eventually). Yet, I have one glaring hold out . . . my writing. I know my writing will never be perfect. Never. But I must strive to do my best. In time, it will match the image in my mind that has great strengths peppered with enough weaknesses (quirks) to keep me humble and interesting. It will find the place. One day I will celebrate my writing’s wonderful imperfection.