F*ck Perfect

Perfect.

That’s what we aspire to be. 

To have the perfect performance.

To look perfect while doing it. 

Being the perfect woman. 

I’m guilty of it. 

I grew up striving for perfection.

Nothing wrong with that, just my reality. 

And in my own way I wanted to perform perfectly.

To appease those who were leading the charge. 

And anything less than perfect,

well, it just wasn’t perfect.

I’m older now.

I’ve experienced more. 

And I’ve come to one big realization.

Fuck perfect. 

I want butterflies.

I want gritty.

I want difficult.

I want hardship

I want to work my ass off day in and out knowing that perfect isn’t the answer.

At the end of the day I want to walk away wanting more. 

Because the day that I don’t,

well that’s the day that I’ve reached my perfect. 

And unfortunately that’s the day that I walk away. 

Because perfect isn’t fun.

Perfect isn’t the goal.

To me, perfect is just a satisfactory means to a satisfactory end.

And fortunately for me I’m going after so much more.