perfectioN

perfectioN:

It can heal. It can crush. It can make us more imperfect by our pursuit of it. When we think we reach
it, it often pulls away, showing us the cracks and wrinkles that still need to be smoothed over. The last ounce of it we must reach to finally be happy. And even though I firmly believe there’s only One who has ever truly possessed it in its fullness, listen to the tricks the mind can play.

So.

Perfection looks like immaculately edited Instagram photos - the perfect pose, the perfect latte art, thriving succulent, the beauty that the photographer captures with perfect symmetry and patterns that our eyes love when we see them. SNAP.

Perfection looks like that once in a blue moon day when your hair, skin, and bloating stomach all agree to be on the same page and look FOINE. When the sun is out, the light is right - not too bright, find that shadowy spot in the yard, coffee shop, library, mall where it diffuses and makes you look like a goddess - SNAP goes the selfie, the Clarendon filter, the vignette, cute hashtag, quote, and. Smile. send. Smile. check back for likes. Wait for comments. We all know comments are more valuable than likes, even more than loves or laughs.

Perfection looks like walking into a room of strangers. They’ll be your coworkers for the next who knows how long. They’ll be your church family, your book club, your classmates, cast mates, frat mates. You look just right, your smile is bright, you handshake firm, you look them in the eye. You say something funny, they laugh. You win them over - SNAP your friendship lasts. You get invited to parties, coffee, movies, the beach, the mountains, you make memories, you say “I love you”, you talk about life and all that it means, you snuggle and can be quiet when life’s too much to be loud and out. No one dislikes you. Everyone knows you and loves you for you because you’re yoU. You’re the center of attention, yet you listen to all their needs. They always want you in their selfies, on their wall, at their birthday party, graduation, wedding - no, IN their wedding. Because you’re the perfect friend and they’re the perfect friend right back to you.

Perfection looks like meeting when you’re young, however young you picture. Your eyes meet. Your hearts melt, then meld to each other till you’re one in intent, motivation, communication, consummation, and compatibility. You do life together and when life hits you, because we all know it will, your will is immovable because the other is your rock and their rock is you. Then SNAP - babies, soccer camp, gold metals, scraped knees, mommy kisses, life lessons learned, little hands, “Mommy, I love you”’s, and pictures in the sand on the beach where you vacation each year. The moment the second one roles around, and the older one says, “I can’t believe she’s out so now we can play!”, and you have to work out to work off that second one, but you get them in on the fun with Mommy-baby yoga. They sleep, you sleep, you and him still “sleep”, and it gets better each year.

So.

What happens

When you have an iPhone 5 and can’t afford to get the new one, so your pictures only look good when you have just the right light, but that doesn’t often happen. And when it does, you’re afraid to post because someone’s made fun of you for posting “like a millennial”. You’re not sure if you could keep a real succulent alive. You’re not really sure how those shapes work, you only know what you like, and not always then. You spend an hour, two, trying to get just the right photo before it’s beautiful enough to send. Then you’re not even really sure if it is - but you like it.

When the blue moon rises and falls too fast because tortilla chips, popcorn, and chocolate are too good to pass up on, or they make you happy when you’re sad, tired, or lonely, because you are one or more of those a good deal of the time, though you smile and move on. When no one is around to take that picture when the elements are just right, or you’re too embarrassed to ask, so you try to make the timer work, but it’s not quite the same. When you get a picture you actually like, yet it needs a filter, but they all make it grainy because again, iPhone 5. Or you do get the perfect picture and, again, person comes along and tries to make themselves feel better by putting you down - maybe not even consciously. No comments come - just likes, maybe laughs or loves.

When strangers have eyes that aren’t even given the chance to stare into your soul because they’re occupied elsewhere. When you do meet their eyes, but then wonder what they really think of you - as Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage”, so we’re all actors. You wish the mask could be peeled away all at once, that friendship could form like a perfectly swirled cone - pull the level, sprinkle some sprinkles, done in a SNAP. Waiting for friendship like seeds planted, watered, seedlings rising, stalks forming, fruit green then ripening - it’s too hard, it takes too long, it’s too much energy. When everyone seems funnier than you, more knowledgable than you; they already have friends. Maybe your smile was too bright, your handshake too firm, your need for community too evident so that it scares them away. Maybe they see too little of you to get to know that you have a fun, dorky sense of humor they may like. Maybe they see too much of you to know that you’re intense, and have a weird, dorky sense of humor they may hate. Maybe you’re too deep. You never even make it to the selfie.

When you meet when you’re young, however young you picture. Your eyes meet. Your hearts melt, then mold. He’s too quiet, he’s too loud. He’s not romantic enough, he’s obsessive. You never have space, you never hear from him. You hurt, then you smile and move on. The Compatibility Clause has never quite clicked for you. SNAP your heart breaks when he tells you it’s not him, it’s you. SNAP you’ll never find love because your standards are too high. SNAP you’re too emotional. SNAP you’re stressing me out. SNAP. Snap. snap. You watch mothers hold their babies. Babies in a stroller, in a park, at the grocery store. Realistically, you know they can be mini monsters, but still your heart aches to have one, to hold one, to be…Mom. Your life goes by and you don’t know if you’ve even met him yet. If you’ll ever meet him. Or if you do, if he’ll even want you, because, well, you’re yoU.

So.

What happens?

Because the DESIRE for perfectioN can make us better people, kind people, hard working people. It’s built roads, cities, hospitals, things that save people’s lives every day. We have cars, modern medicine, electricity because someone said NO - there’s got to be a better way to do this. I’m not going to stop. I’m going to make this PERFECT. People spend who knows how much money every year on things to make them beautiful, healthy, young, strong, intelligent, creative, great in bed. But is hard work = perfection? Excellent creative projects = perfection? Best friends = perfection? Best job, best health, best husband = perfection? Because somewhere inside we know there will always be someone better than us, right? Prettier, stronger, richer, sexier? More hardworking, funnier, confident, creative, attractive-for-what-ever-mystical-reason-you-can’t-quite-discover-though-you-have-similar-qualities-to-said-magical-“I love that guy”-being.

So.

What is perfection? Is it attainable? Is it a myth? Is it only in our heads? Or is it something far more and far less than anything I’ve just written - something you may already know. And the longer I write, the more my drive for perfection, for finding the perfect words, makes me feel imperfect. And though there are rules and structure to the thing called Great Writing, when does the desire for the Best Writing - that people will actually enjoy, won’t judge you for, actually make it to the end before they like your post - make you…SNAP.