Embracing Imperfection
I had an epiphany this morning. I was telling my dad about this writing bootcamp thing I’m doing and explaining that my biggest issue is that I’m a perfectionist. Perfectionism is no good. In terms of writing, normally I write, then I proofread, then I rewrite, rewrite, and rewrite. By the time I’m done with one article it’s been three weeks (atleast). It still will not be perfect but my attempt to make it perfect has taken a lot of time and beating up of myself. And then I only have one article after all is said and done. If I say ‘perfect’ one more time, you get a cookie. I was thinking this morn that I’d rather write on a new topic everyday and end up with 21 mediocre (in my mind) articles as opposed to one good one. My point is that I can embrace imperfection and the imperfection itself is PERFECT!!! Woah there cowgirl- it’s getting meta in here. I don’t want to try to be perfect anymore. My whole life, I have always tried to be…the perfect dancer, the perfect student, the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect girlfriend, the perfect person…I’m not gonna lie, I had moments in high school ala Tracy Flick. I so badly wanted to be in a gazillion pages in the yearbook and I spent so much time running from meeting to meeting for various clubs/societies. I was ‘that guy.’ I was a pom pon girl, show choir performer, philanthropy activist, and national honor society president. I wanted to be in everything (non-athletic) and I wanted to be the best at everything. Secretly. I claimed to be someone who was not competitive, but let’s be honest…I was. And the person who I was most competitive with? Me. BUT, there was a part of me under that part that wanted to be a rebel. I went through phases of wearing wide leg jeans and blackberry lipstick. I had dreads and attended underground breakdance parties. I even Deejayed with my boys. I secretly secretly wanted to be dangerous. on the dance floor.
BUT I wanted to be PERFECT at being dangerous on the dance floor. I wanted to be perfect in every way. I stress ‘wanted.’ I was not perfect at anything. I always ‘wanted’ to be. Huge difference.
This existed as I entered university studying pre-medicine and also joining a sorority AND doing theatre. Not only was I a weird theatre kid, I was also throwing sorority parties, and studying for Organic Chemistry for hours at a time. I even gave the keynote address at my commencement ceremony. Not because I was valedictorian…I was sort of like Van Wilder.
So two days before graduation, I made out with the cute Sigma Pi indian boy in the lobby of my apartment building. AND the morning of my graduation, where I was about to speak in front of thousands of people, I woke up with a HUGE hickey on my neck. My roommates and I tried to get it off with a cold spoon. It didn’t work. I repeat, I tried to get a huge hickey off my neck with a spoon 2 hours before I gave the keynote address at my university commencement. That’s just a sidenote.
Today I have decided to embrace imperfection. Messiness. Being dirty. I’ve always secretly liked to be dirty, but now I’m gonna lay it all out there. I’m sick of trying to be the best. I’m sick of trying to be perfect. I am who I am right now in the moment…and believe me, it’s not perfect. BUT THAT IS OKAY.
I realize how off-tangent and non-structured this post has become. But it is what it is. I’m not even gonna go back and re-read it before I post it.
This is hard. I want to re-read it. I need to check it. What if it sucks? What if its literal word vomit.
Stepping away from the computer. St-ep-ping a-way. Copy. Publish. Till next time. Love you. Bye.