A Bunch of Imperfections

"Perfection itself is imperfection." Vladimir Horowitz

I have just had a little breakdown on my treadmill. I was starting to feel the endorphins from running (oh, how I’ve missed those during my hiatus from running) in conjunction with all these feelings of stress from this past year. In the recovery process of circumstances beyond my control, I have fought hard to stay sane and balanced. Then I was hit by all this emotion running. These feelings that no matter what I do , I feel like I am standing still, not going anywhere. Why can’t I feel like I am moving forward? I am doing so many positive things in my life. I am trying so hard. Then as I am running, I am thinking about the words of the Belle and Sebastian song “If She Wants Me,” “If I could do just one near perfect thing I’d be happy They’d write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes…” Is that what I am trying to do? One near perfect thing to write on my grave? And what is that one thing? Being a mother, being a wife, being a friend, being a runner, being a writer? Or do I want it all? Maybe that’s my problem? Focusing too much on perfection. Maybe I should focus on imperfection and see where that gets me? Anyway, that’s what I seem to be achieving, a bunch of imperfection. I’ll rewrite the song, “If I could do a bunch of imperfect things I’d be happy They’d write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes…”