I will never be perfect. I will not edit this post, my Facebook status or my life over and over until everything is perfect but yet I still love the idea of perfectionism. I don't seek it in myself, can any person truly be perfect? They can to one other person but even then they will have their cracks, their moments where the perfect falters for something more human. I do, however, seek perfectionism for myself.
I look for art so perfect I can't take my eyes off of it. For music which whisks me away in its harmonious melodies. For food so succulent I question my own existence with every bite. For fabrics so soft and breezes so gentle that if that moment were to freeze like Bernard 's clock then I'd be content for evermore.
Perfection doesn't exist. For that to be the case we would all have to have the same tastes in all the ways it could manifest itself. Perfectionism is an idea, a whisper inside each person's mind which describes something different each time.
Am I ever going to be perfect? Will my hair miraculously begin framing my face without the need for hours of styling? Will concealer become a figment of my imagination? No. But my life will have perfection in it. I will and I am surrounded by the things I find perfect.
Perfume. I have a perfume set, the scents have changed and the colours have bleached from the sun but it is perfect. It is this that makes my definition of perfect different to you, to anyone who isn't me. The perfume set isn't perfect in anyway and yet it is perfect simply for the fact that my Granny gave it to me years ago.
So what is the art of being perfect? Being perfectly you.
- A Twenty Something