Learning to Live With Imperfection

I’ve always been the type of person so bent on perfection. Not just being perfect in the eyes of others but being perfect in my own eyes and truly embodying the word. I have always felt that to be truly perfect was to be the best in every form. Not only did I have to succeed, but I had to outperform those around me. I had to create original ideas that out-shined all past accomplishments.

It's a nasty way to think about others as competition rather than as an inspiration. I have no right to symbolize their success as my failure. Individuals are exactly that — individual. It isn't fair to compare my progress to another's when no one is equal.

Perfection lies deep in my soul, not just in the presentation of myself to the world. To have a perfect day, I have to have a perfect beginning, middle and end. To have a perfect relationship, it has to have a perfect beginning, middle and end. To have a perfect career, to have a perfect life, to be perfect...everything has to be perfect.

It litters my writing. Every word is painstakingly thought out. Every paragraph is carefully structured, then read over again and again and again. Even then, I consistently have doubts on if my work is good enough. Not just good enough for my readers, but good enough for myself. Everything has to be perfect to be published, and because of that, dozens of unfinished and finished writing sit untouched.

When imperfection sneaks its way in, it taunts me and taunts me and taunts me. Over and over in my head, guilt runs rampant. It causes me to breakdown, second guess myself and replay how I could've handled a situation better, how I could've phrased an idea better or how I could've spent my day off of work better.

In times of distress, I turn to writing to ease my heart. However, that obsession with perfection is in my veins, and even then, my form of emotional release acts as a barrier.

Life isn't perfect.

I know, I know. Like you have't heard that 10 million times, but it really isn't perfect. It's messy. It's difficult. It's full of ups and downs. There will never a life that is 100% perfectly lived in the eyes of the world. Perfect days that occur week in and week out won't always exist, and a perfect beginning doesn't equal a perfect middle or end, nor does a crappy beginning mean a crappy middle or end.

Life is meant to be lived, not dissected. To live means to live every emotion, good and bad. It's not about obsessing about how imperfect your life may be or how what you envisioned inside your head didn't translate as vividly as you imagined.

It's about taking those leaps of faith, diving for your dreams, engulfing yourself in meaningful relationships, learning from mistakes, allowing yourself to crumble, rising above, letting go of what you think is perfect and writing your story.

The perfect story does not exist, much like the perfect life or the perfect day or the perfect person does not exist. The best kinds of stories are full of imperfections. We are all human. We all make mistakes. We are all still learning how to deal with the tremendous amount of stress that impacts our lives daily. We are allowed to continue learning and continue growing.

The lesson I treasure most from writing is the importance of simply writing your own story. Let your life be your pages. Let your adventures, relationships, breakdowns and moments of emotion fill the pages. It's healthy to try in everything you do, but focus on putting pen to paper and living the life you feel happy with. Be your own author. Just write and just live.

Your friend,
Jane