“You’re perfectly imperfect.”
“He’s perfect for me.”
Phrases such as these I’ve both heard and said too many times. After a while I’ve begun to question what the word “perfect” really means to me.
Perfect means literally “In a state of undiminished or highest excellence; without defect; flawless.” In 18 years I have never met a single person who is perfect. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve met so many wonderful, incredible, inspiring people. People that I am so grateful to know and consider my friends, or people who may not be in my life anymore, but that nonetheless I am grateful to have known and learned from.
I’ve met people who seemed perfect to me, but getting to know them made me realize that they had their own problems and insecurities to deal with.
Being imperfect is not a problem but setting “perfect” as the standard leads us to believe it is. Nothing can live up to to that standard, because real life isn’t perfect. Real life is full of beauty and wonderful moments. And moments that are not so wonderful. Hopefully all of them together add up to be something pretty incredible.
So, I’m letting go of perfect. I don’t need to live a perfect life in a perfect world, with perfect people. I don’t want to be perfect, or perfectly imperfect.
I want to be deliciously, stupidly, wonderfully real.