Why I broke up with perfect.

 

Photograph  Some rights reserved by puuikibeach

This is a blog that started a little odd. I was thinking of the many things I felt I had to do before I turned 30. As if at 30, my destiny was to shrivel into a pile of dust.

The reason I thought I had this list, was the same reason you take lists grocery shopping or when you need step-by-step instructions on how to set up an Ikea dresser. Sane people would say you make checklists to avoid forgetting, crazy people like me make them to fuel a hungry fire, perfection I call it.

It started very innocently, I started writing and thinking, and as a result added many lines to the index , some where challenges that were very dear to my heart, quests that I wanted to experience, fun still to be had. On the other hand, perfection was writing its own list and tagging it along to mine.


-"You must do this" - it would say, -"You must try that" - it would insist.
It would always point out at how much fun others were having, underlining that I needed to grow up and that I was on a schedule.

A schedule to be better, funner, smarter, more knowledgeable, more successful and very likely thinner but always happy yet always striving, crying, demanding for life to give me more.

I'm going to tell you right now, perfection is a fucking tyrant. Not only perfection disregards how illogical it is to ask me to do all these things at the same time, perfection will always find someone who is better than I. Perfection has a very spontaneous way of looking at my accomplishments in a way that I dare to compare to a provocative woman pointing out at a man's penis and yelling "OMG you a-re SOOO SMALL" then pretending to hold a tweezer.

Perfection was kind of a bitch because I will have you know, it is not the size that matters but the motion of the ocean or whatever that means.

Anyway, perfection always won our arguments, because evidently, I cannot uphold such standards. Perfection always wants my attention, whenever I hung out with contentment or dare to mention pride, it is always calling my name, like a school mistress that is about to pull my ear for being insolent.

The worst is that perfection isn't only mine. I know it goes out with many of my friends, family and others, sometimes it comes out of the mouth of my dear ones. "Do this" - "Do that" I see a different face yet I can hear perfection lurking in the high pitched notes coming out of their mouths.

I have come to realize that perhaps I have better things to do with my life than hearing that piercing noise every hour, every day. So I told perfection it can go fuck itself.

Perfection kind of took it to heart. It keeps calling me at different hours of the night, waling, telling me it knows I cannot live without the drive its chant used to instigate in me.

At times I think there is some truth to that, but then I sit in my bed and realize life is not a race, it looks like one, it smells like one, but it only becomes one if I feel my heart agitated and start to run. So I stand still, close my eyes and decide to tell my mind to go slowly.

Perfection will have to wait for me at the finish line.