My entire life has revolved around this theory, this idea, of reaching perfection. What exactly is "perfect"? Is it obtainable?
Today I sat in a group discussing the definition of perfectionism. We were asked to use our non-dominant hand to express what this word means to us individually. Stuck on the horror of writing with my left hand, this is all I could sputter out: "This is cruel and unusual punishment. Feeling this way manifests my perfectionism. The end."
It looked like a three year old wrote it. To be brutally honest, I was completely disgusted. Why? Why on earth did it matter what my handwriting looked like? It was my left hand for crying out loud; what was it supposed to look like? I am not ambidextrous. Perfection was not required or even slightly expected.
"Perfectionism is a matter of opinion." What a interesting, marvelous way to put it. Now, can I make myself truly believe that? Altering what is hard-wired into my brain is not as easy as I would prefer it to be. My whole life has spun off it's axis trying to be the best, at everything, at all times. However, I cannot be happy if I'm just living to beat everyone, if I live every minute as a game: a competition to be won. There are some things in life that I should not want to be the best at, but due to this overwhelming urge, I find myself compulsed to try.
I can say the words: "there's beauty in imperfection". Yet, I cannot force myself to comprehend or believe them. I have my flaws; I hate them, but I have them. I think I'll make a list (I like lists). Confronting my flaws will most likely be terrifying and tedious, but I'm wondering if that will allow me to put them in perspective. My mind-set needs to change; I must find the perfection in my imperfections.
I'm perfect.
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