Dear Perfectly You,
You are perfect. Do you know that?
You are perfect, just as you are.
The way you can make pancakes and drive a car and sing lullabies is perfect.
But the way you can’t solve complicated math problems or bake French pastry or repair a car is perfect, too.
You are perfectly imperfect.
If you did everything exactly right… it would be wrong. It wouldn’t be human. (No matter how much others portray them and their lives as complete and utter perfection— it isn’t true.) We all have our strengths, and we all have our weaknesses. We all have things that are going well and things that could use a little improvement (or a lot, in the case of my gardening).
Your perfection isn’t from a perfect body or a perfect house. Your perfection doesn’t come from being the perfect mom or wife or daughter.
Your perfection is in your unique combination of traits and interests and skills, in your laugh, in your courage, in your honesty and vulnerability. Your perfection lies in being YOU. (And guess what— even if you aren’t courageous or honest or vulnerable, you’re still perfect. Are you beginning to see? This is a game you can’t lose.)
Your growth makes you perfect. If you stayed the same… you wouldn’t be alive. Not truly. Even rocks— the most inanimate of objects— change from wind and sand and time. So shall you— and that’s perfect.
You will make mistakes. Even doing the best you can, even knowing all you know, you will make mistakes. Because as much as you can do, you will have off days and off moments due to stress or fatigue, caused by sadness or fear. Because as much as you know, you will never be a mind reader or be able to predict the future. (Unless you are the rare individual blessed with this ability, in which case, please share your insight with me!) Making mistakes is okay. You’re still perfect. Mistakes are perfect— they are opportunities for learning and growth.
There will be things that are “wrong” with you— your thighs, your writing, your patience, your mashed potatoes. LOOK AGAIN. It may not be the “best,” it may not be “ideal,” but it’s perfect. Here, in this moment, it’s perfect. (Except, let’s be honest, the mashed potatoes could always use more butter.)
You are perfect in your existence, in your achievements, in your failure, and in your growth. You are perfect in your anger and tears, in your confusion and uncertainty, in your fear and vulnerability. You are perfect in the way you love, the way you laugh, the way you show up in the world.
There isn’t anything you can do or not do that makes you perfect— you already are. Perfect in my eyes. Perfect in my heart.
That doesn’t change— only you change. And you will still be perfectly imperfect, perfectly loved, perfectly here. Perfect.
Hey there, fellow free spirit!
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