Shadows of Perfection

Ever feel like you can't do anything right?


Like what you do is never enough?


Lately, I have been feeling this way in most aspects of life: work, school (paper writing, theatre company, etc.), relationships (friends, family). I was speaking with someone about this feeling of always being unable to do anything right. In her response to my feelings, she spoke of how unrealistic it is to have an expectation of perfect. Perfection will never be realized, so why emotionally kill yourself for something you will not achieve? I have known this principle for many years, but it does not mean it is not utterly frustrating that I am not perfect, yet. I will never love perfectly. I will never speak perfectly. I will never communicate perfectly. I exist in the shadows of perfection (a phrase coined by my friend). I exist in a realm of reality where failing is normal.

I exist 

in shadows

In darkness 

I breathe

feet cold

fingers cold

lips cold

I could speak

I could write

but say what?

If the product

is only shadow,

of utter perfection

then why produce?

There is, however, an automatic grace as everyone falls into the same category of imperfect. No one will achieve such a status, so we all get grace. Hopefully, we do not abuse this grace; but, it is there. It is all around. Instead of breathing freezing cold air and feeling desperate, we breathe in the frigid air, and relish in the fact that our lungs still work. The temperature shocks our body systems and we jerk to a sudden state of alertness. A shot of adrenaline rushes, heart rate increases, toes get ready to move.


This flawed idea of perfection rears its distorted head in various aspects of life: body image, speech, intelligence (ever had a written paper torn to shreds?), talent, etc. I could go on, but it would be too torturous, not to mention revealing of all the areas perfection has taunted me.


I wrote this in the Fall, and wanted to share it.

If I was supposed to be happy

you were supposed to tell me how

If I was to achieve success

you were supposed to tell me when I was there

My life would be measured and weighed by you

But who are you?

Where did you come from,

and with what authority do you judge me?

If I follow the thread of my desires,

the deepest longings of my life

where would I end up?

where did you end up?

Did you end up fighting with everything, 

in every way to please another

to achieve affirmation of desirability,

worth, value, beauty, or strength?

When I trace these threads to the depths,

to those places I rarely go,

because I do not like what I see,

I will find that you are the perfect me

The perfect me is the me

who lives in a day-dream of the future

The me who wants every dream dreamt

to become a living, breathing reality

But what do I get when I become that person?

A haunting question

with an ever-haunting answer

Somehow, if I get to perfect, its desire will not quit

That's all

me

Blog Title thoughts

I have avoided beginning a blog for quite sometime. One reason for this the reader will understand from my very first blog (the whole sharing one's own story, life, heart, etc.). A second reason for this is that I am simply absent-minded. I start one thing, move to another, and forget to finish what I actually began in the first place. 


I forget how old I am. I honestly have to think about it for a few moments. I think I stopped keeping track after I hit 21. There are not really anymore monumental ages until the big five-oh, right? I also forget that I am tired and exhausted when I begin great conversations, or have the opportunity to dance. The point of these few tid-bits about me is to say that I forget I have this thing. I forget that I have a blog...I am now a blogger...until my creativity sparks. I begin thinking of experiences I have in "blog-title" format. I was telling a couple friends this the other day.


The truth is, I may have been a natural-born blogger. I truly do think back on my experiences in blog-titles: witty one-liners which capture the attention of the reader before they even begin the journey. For example, I wrote this blog while I was in South Africa in the summer of 2009.

When the Smell of Rotting Kelp Becomes Endearing (see what I mean...It's kinda catchy)

On a warm night with the waves swelling maybe 3 feet high.

Even 50 yards from it you can still feel the moist air the waves' mist brings

The smell of salt is stale

The memory of only a few days ago and the whales, having no chance, beached themselves.

Lights glitter across the cove showing signs of life from the village just a few miles away

Low clouds tingle the taste buds of the mountains, dancing across the rough surface.

No laughing, crying, or delightful screams.

Just the slap of waves incessantly beating and churning sand.

Calm serenity takes over the days' woes and victories.

Surrender or grip the tension within

that's all
me

Second Thoughts...

Hello.
Welcome.
Today, I am going to share a piece of writing which I wrote last year. The place where I was inspired to write these words was in my bedroom in Manhattan, KS. It was a Friday night (please hold all jokes about my social life), and Saturdays I was involved in a writing group called Ink. We wrote, we read, and we workshopped our pieces. It was Saturday morning bliss. Side note: God is sweet, as some students at Fuller are beginning the same type of writing/art sharing group (meeting Saturday mornings 10:30AM Zona Rosa).


This piece doesn't have a title, sorry.

Sing great muse

speak of a time both ancient and future

A time when harmony rang loud

with every movement, every word,

thought and sense

Take me back and lead me toward a time

when purity enveloped

every part of creation.

What would I give to taste

the sweet fruit that quenches

the driest thirst held in my depths?

What could I do to touch the 

lips of the one who speaks

good into existence?

You have ravaged my being and I

will never get it back.

Only keep it, guard it, grow it,

break and heal it that the scars 

from the wounds would turn smooth surface

to rough beauty.

An artwork unlike any other. 


that's all
me

First thoughts...

I feel a certain amount of pressure as to what to write about for my first blog. A first blog should set the tone for everything the blog will be about. Right?
But who honestly cares about setting tones?
I do not.
So...here are my thoughts.

I realized today that I am not nice to my feet (Yeah, I know...you likely did not expect that one coming). I have been thinking about it for a few years, but I did not have a blog then. But I am, in fact, not nice to my feet. I appreciate walking barefoot, and I love to dance without the proper shoes on. Side note: barefoot is not a good way to dance. Even dancing stocking-footed is not good, no matter what Risky Business might teach you. 

Another piece of important information is that when I am agitated, I get restless. When I am supposed to do something (i.e., start a blog), but I am uncomfortable about it (i.e., not wanting to start a blog) I have to walk around to figure our the emotions and let them settle. I am easily distracted and avoid confronting said emotions when I sit and do nothing but procrastinate in doing the very thing I know I will eventually do. Hopefully, you followed that. I promised a friend that I would start a blog today (notice how it is nearly midnight and I am just posting this first blog - haha).

On my agitated walk today, I began to get frustrated with my shoes. They are fantastic shoes, but my feet felt constricted. I needed to feel the earth. The rough concrete against their tough soles, and the grass' soft massage. At the time I took the shoes off, I realized that my feet have been through a lot. Many waters, temperatures, surfaces, etc. In that minute, I connected with my agitation, and grew even more agitated. The moments had collided to a bittersweet cathartic experience. Side note: catharsis is my favorite word...I will discuss it at a later date.

I am agitated about beginning a blog because, like my feet, I have experienced a lot. I have, until now, never been one to share much of my experiences, or my heart with people. I am secretly hoping this post, beginning with feet, will be quickly over-looked and passed up for another, more substantial blog. I love reflection. And when I reflect on my life in my mind...it stays in my mind (obviously). And that is very safe for me.

I am addicted to experiences, though. I love to take them in slowly and observe them as they happen. I listen to all the details: my heart rate, thoughts sparked, a memory being made, sounds. Each element adds its own spice to the final entree. These experiences are very deep and close to my heart; ergo, not something I am readily excited to share. But, here's to new experiences...

heart rate, slightly faster than normal,
thoughts of uncertainty,
who could forget this moment?
I can hear nothing but the pressing of keys (and a car just drove by outside my house)

I hope, for our sakes, my feet have more things to teach.

that's all
me