My Soapbox

As the name implies, this is opinion and nothing more. Sometimes I post, but mostly I just tell myself that I should.


In the Pursuit of Perfection

The perfect job. The perfect meal. The perfect kiss.

The perfect family. The perfect child. The perfect person.

We, as a species, strive for perfection; I strive for perfection. And perfection is an illusion.

I know this, on an intellectual level, and I ken it, too, from my own personal experiences in seeking perfection. But damn, it is easy to forget.

And what does this vain pursuit get me? Nothing, really. Disappointment, regret. How many times have I sought this thing that is, in my eyes, perfect, only to get close to it, to achieve it, and find it lacking?

How long have I held onto my novel because I feel like it just isn't perfect enough?

Where is that line, between  perfect, good enough, and sloppy?

I'm not sure. I'm too close to it. And that damn perfectionist in me - he looks over my shoulder like a mischievous ghost, whispering in my ear about the things that no one else can see or will care about.

But no. It's good enough. It's ready...