Perfectly Imperfect, Thanks Anyway

Permit me a brief rant.

If your Facebook wall looks anything like mine, it’s well stocked with motivational mini-posters placed there by dozens of friends wanting to share these inspirational quotes.  I truly love these folks for passing along this well-intended karma because, most of the time, ingesting this positivity at the end of a totally-sucks-donkey-balls day soothes me more than a chilled vodka martini. And that’s a lot.

Always believe something wonderful is about to happen… You can make a difference… Look for the answer inside your question…

It’s like stepping into the Church of ME, where everyday is Sunday and all my favorite peeps (along with a few well-placed celebrities and motivational speakers) are swaying to the music, raising their hands and shouting in unison You go, sistah!

But lately I’ve been looking at a few of these messages with a bit of pessimism – and some with great deal of question. Only because I think it’s important to know when to walk away instead of never giving up. And I truly don’t believe that love is the answer to every question. Nor do I subscribe to the notion that we all get to live the life we want to live.

And one of these quotes in particular sends me straight into a stark-raving, pre-menstrual, terror-ridden frenzy every damned time I read it:


On its first appearance I simply deleted this snarky morsel of so-called self help. But when it repeatedly surfaced in various forms (you are perfect and don’t need to change, you are perfect just the way you are, you are precious and perfect, blah blah blah), I decided to check the definition of perfect in several dictionaries to be certain I perfectly (pun intended) understood these idioms:

per·fect  adj., n. pur-fikt; v. per-fekt] adjective:
Conforming to the definition of an ideal type.
Excellent or beyond practical or theoretical improvement.
Entirely without any flaws, defects or shortcomings.
Accurate, exact or correct in every detail.

And now that I’m fully versed in exactly what perfect is, I’d like to take this opportunity (given that I am the supreme ruler of my own soapbox and thus have that right) to post my official response to these inspirational quotes for the three or four of my regular readers:


For the record, I am not ideal, complete or without flaws. Thus, I am NOT perfect. And I will not march blindly along with others toward a mantra that professes something I know for fact not to be true, now or ever.  No matter who posts it.

If I were perfect, I would regularly practice yoga and meditation, feeling an abundance of inner peace and self-acceptance.

My bed would be crisply made each morning and not just the ten or so days each year when we have guests.

The toothpaste tube would be neatly rolled from the end and not randomly squeezed from the center.

I would be muscular and fit, the result of a robust workout regimen I would religiously follow.

I would eat tofu and wheat-free products and my cupboards would be neatly stocked full of low-salt, low-fat, vegan products.

I would not swear.  Or fart. Or say mean things to or about others.

I would not be fat.

My handwriting would be delicate and pristine, replete with the disciplined scrollwork that comes only from a well-trained hand.

I would meet every deadline, floss regularly, wear only hole-free panties and instinctively know, from the moment my eyes flew open in the early morning hours, exactly what I was preparing for dinner each and every night.

I would not have chin hairs or droopy boobs.

My bills would be paid in full and on time. My retirement fund would be plentiful.

I would forgive easily and love openly.

I would not rant.

I would be boring.

That’s right: boring. And bored. Because in the state of perfection, there would be nothing left to accomplish in terms of self improvement.  Ho-fucking-hum.  Yes, I’d be beautiful and thin and incredibly incredible at everything I did, but so what?  And because all that perfection would be downright irritating to others, I’d have no friends (save for the hangers-on and stalkers who don’t really like me but envy my perfection).

No thanks, I am perfectly content with not being perfect. With being normal… being me. Strong, snarky, sizable, silly, sloppy, saggy, spirited. Susie. Making genuine, ernest moves everyday to become not perfect… but better.

As far as I am concerned, anyone who professes perfection – or resolves to attain it – is delusional (or an alien). There is simply no such thing. It’s an unattainable goal. Aim lower and do your best: you’ll be far happier and more likely to succeed.

Oh – and please don’t post anymore YOU ARE PERFECT messages for me.  You know who you are. They tend to get my dander up just a bit…