A short musing.
Everything today centers on being perfect, and I’m sick of it.
I consider posting a picture to social media, but nope, not perfect. Can’t post it. Because how can I compare to the beautiful world that lives on Instagram? My picture wasn’t taken with a $10,000 camera and it definitely wasn’t edited with pastel colors that properly align with the hues in the photo.
My clothes aren’t dripping with exquisite taste or nailing down the popular street style I so often see celebrities pulling off. I’m just, well, me and the picture captures that. I don’t look like I have my life together or I’m “living my best life.” It’s just me in a picture, probably with a dog, being me. But I don’t feel qualified to post it because it doesn’t meet the social media standards of today.
I begin writing to what I hope will be a perfectly written, maybe a touch witty, article that grasps my point articulately. The words are flowing and my fingers are sprinting across the keys until I start to slow down about ¾ of the way through. Abruptly, I come to a halt. I reread what I’ve written, and I feel disappointed.
The article reads okay, but it’s not something that I know everyone will appreciate. I see a few sentences that could be rearranged to better describe what I’m trying to convey. I spy a few grammatical errors as well. It’s a far cry from a perfect article, but it’s still my writing. I want to post it, but I feel, once again, not qualified enough.
I’ve become a perfectionist in every avenue of my life. Nothing seems to meet the standard. My standards. Because it’s my own insecurity and issue stopping me from just doing it. I could learn a thing or two from Nike.
The same goes for my appearance, my personality, my living space, current hangouts, even down to the nail polish on my fingernails. Everything has to be in proper form. I have to exhibit exuberance at all times, less someone notices my imperfections.
It’s a harsh world, full of critics and superiors waiting for you to trip up and fall so they can pounce on you.
But I’m over it.
I’ll wave to my critics with my chipped nail polish and dated attire. I’ll post my imperfect article and plain Jane picture on Instagram. Because I’m done trying to be something I’m not. I truly don’t care about my appearance or if I’m wearing the trendiest outfit. I don’t care if someone thinks my writing sucks or I look horrible in a picture.
There will always be someone or something that is better, trendier, smarter, prettier. Comparing takes your perfectly acceptable state and dwindles it down to nothing. It strengthens your insecurities and weakens your confidence.
Funnily enough, when you take a step back, you realize that other people compare themselves to you. The irony is not lost on me.
The fact of the matter is that we are all different and perfectly acceptable the way we are. Just do what you like and live how you want and forget the word perfect. I mean, evidently, there’s not a single thing in this world that’s perfect.