I'm Not a Perfectionist Anymore

A Rant About Being Free

LA is the most perfect imperfect place of all

Part I - Perfect

I used to be a perfectionist. I used to believe that if I didn’t dot my i’s and cross my t’s that people would notice, and I would never recover. I became free when I learned that everyone’s just as scared as I am.

Part II - Gravity

I experience two simultaneous pulls - one craving stability, steady money and a feeling of belonging. The other, staying independent and living every moment as if the one before it didn’t matter and the one following it is only an abstract idea.

Let’s experience these two pulls equally. Let’s have a balancing act.

Yin and yang, man and woman, the United States and the Soviet Union, bagel and cream cheese, ginger and wasabi, cars and the bus lane, intuition and repression.

I made a list.

Part III - Stay put

Every action inside of one’s life is like a separate life in and of itself.

Let’s go to work for a day:

Birth: Entering the office

First steps: Greeting people and getting settled

Bar Mitzvah: First meeting of the day

Adulthood: The mundane tasks of the day

Death: Leaving the office

Sometimes it’s a bad day, and sometimes it’s not. Regardless, when it’s over, it’s truly over, and that’s okay. Time goes on whether you like it or not. Just be (the most midwit declaration of all).

Part IV - Deoptimize

My high school English teacher told me that incentivize isn’t a word. I kept it in my final paper anyway (it’s a word invented by corporations, but it’s a word nonetheless).

Live true to yourself. Do you know why you should?

There is no perfect country. There is no perfect society. There is no perfect partner. There is no perfect vocation. There is no perfect state of health. There is no perfect state of mind. There is no perfect environment. There is no perfect city. There is no perfect sidewalk. There is no perfect machine. There is no perfect flower. There is no perfect feeling. There is no perfect life. There is no perfect job. There is no perfect politician. There is no perfect language. There is no perfect culture.

Perfect.

The more perfect we think we are, the more unresolved demons are churning underneath it all.

Imperfection is endearing (punctuation optional)

See you next week.