On being perfectly imperfect

“The best thing for a perfectionist is to fail so utterly that he knows there’s no possibility of ever being perfect.”

Said a pastor to me once upon a time.

I remember sitting in his office and hearing it but not really processing it. Ever grab a bookmark when purchasing a book while thinking “This will come in handy some day”? It seemed correct, but I wasn’t aware yet of my perfectionism.

Damn. Mr. Preacher’s words have returned.

*sigh

And he’s correct. Even what I’m doing now—being willing to publish my travel notes—is a witness, testifying that the man who would have rather listened to Justin Bieber for the rest of his life than let unedited writing into the stratosphere has no energy left to appear perfect. To give any semblance of perfection. In fact, there’s a great relief in letting people know upfront about his biggest, gravest fuckups. Set the bar at an honest level. Give them the chance to walk before there’s any unnecessary disappointment later on.

Publishing mental scribbles is pretty easy when you’re not trying to impress anyone.

One of the advantages about being an Enneagram 1 who has failed miserably in life is my anger. Any thought of impressing others or maintaining some semblance of someone to be admired is bulldozed. Sure, there’s still the perfectionistic tendencies—like muscle memory—that must be overcome, but these moves are shortlived.

What will they think… “It doesn’t matter.”

What if they don’t… “It’s better if they didn’t”

What happens when they… “You’ll be better off…”

I’d rather people hate me for who I am than love me for who I am not. Even my own children. Sure, being hated for the person you aren’t sucks, but nothing healthy and good and lovely comes from protecting a lie. And you cannot lie when you have nothing to hide.

Which brings me back to the concept of perfection. I’m learning to see perfection in terms of process, not product. It’s a perspective that places value on trying, editing, engaging, testing—being vulnerable—because this perspective values the human emerging from the work and the work from the human.

I think.

There’s something about that last line that I need to think some more about, but for now I’m simply trying to say that I’m content being perfectly imperfect.