Perfection is such a strange concept. For my whole childhood, I felt held to this standard. I had to get A’s, be on top, behave myself. And so I not only practiced being perfect, I chastised myself for imperfections. I felt let down when others showed theirs. I grew frustrated when obstacles stood in the way of the path I felt I saw so clearly.
Now I’m being told that nothing is perfect, that my expectations are too high. That imperfect things happen and rather than get upset, I need to be ready with a back-up plan. Was this myth of perfection a façade for childhood or has the entire philosophy changed?
Wasn’t childhood supposed to be preparation for adulthood? The chance to practice while the stakes were low? Yet somehow I’m supposed to become someone different from whom I was always expected to be. On the precipice of real opportunity, with a new job and a new life, why wouldn’t I want to try to be perfect?
All I want to do is charge ahead. This is the first part of my prize and I want to grab it. I suppose I must learn the reality of patience without giving up on the idea of perfection.