A Fork in the Road

This journey has led me to a few conclusions thus far—one, that perfection is not attainable. It is an ideal that I strive for, but will never reach. It has caused me to reassess what I deem valuable, in this case, can perfection add anything my life regarding value.

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I find myself standing at a crossroads. One fork is familiar. It is the same old perfection-seeking path—more business-as-usual, more comparison, more approval seeking, more of a death grip on control, more fear and more anger. The other fork is so dark that I can’t see anything. A foreboding feeling comes over me as I strain to make out any familiar landmarks. There are none that I can see from the fork in the road. I know nothing in advance, I have no control, I have no idea what will be waiting for me down this shadowy path. Therefore I can’t prepare. Being this vulnerable terrifies me. I don’t want more of the same. I know the dark foreboding road is the one I should take. But, traveling this way will require me to walk without all of my “safety gear” (i.e., Perfectionism) which has me frozen in indecision at this junction.

**

I want to succeed in life. This simple challenge to write every day for 31 days straight, is another example of me wanting desperately to be successful. I want my words to be taken seriously, to be crafted well, to be valuable. For the whole month of September, I spent time planning this series, researching, digging through my memories for good stories to illustrate the points I wanted to make. I even wrote the first six days of entries and had them scheduled to post to my blog automatically. All of this is for the sake of being successful—to win at this writing challenge.

I am struggling with perfection even as I write about dismantling perfection.

I know that success and perfection are two different things but when the desire for success is directly related to the value I ascribe to myself, that is the problem.

What if I gave up control?

What if I didn’t care what people thought of me?

What if I allowed myself to be the real me?

I certainly would not be perfect.

Would I be loved anyway?

Probably by the ones that truly matter to me.

Maybe not by those I shouldn’t be worried about anyway.

Would I love myself more, or be happier with my life?


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