In my third rant against perfection, I nearly embrace it.
In my first rant, I recount how I became rabidly against perfection from the trauma of a young boy, being chided by my father for my lack of perfect handwriting…both in cursive and in standard form but especially for my ugly cursive…. my father had great cursive and we couldn’t measure up to him by he would berate us for it…and it made me feel little, and worse, and out of control and disappointed…and angry. From then on, my rebellion against perfection was both one against his tyranny of the pursuit, and his authority, period.
As I grew older, I embrace more and more, as wise, rational people should…that perfection is not attainable…it is a worthy, honorable, and good ideal and pursuit…but it is futile. For to pursue it with absolute zeal becomes unreasonable and tyrannical in itself, and for so many reasons it becomes a tool of manipulation of others and oppression of the self.
I find in some ways I became what I feared, and ran towards what I thought I tried to run away from. In some ways, I have unconsciously pursued perfection..in some ways I have tried to be overly competitive with myself or others for the same stupid fucking reason.
I find myself mad for this. mad at myself.and the world.
I have to have more self control, discipline and introspection.
I can’t let this go and become so unconscious.
I can’t stand perfectionists, and loathe being around such people…. it is a blessing that I have a short temper, for I do not suffer fools.