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