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post #668
bio: jen
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4/16/2020
18:27

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Not Perfect

How is everyone doing? I'm still hanging in there. I'm still breathing and walking the dog. I've had a few moments of AHHHHHHH and a few moments of UGGGHHHH, but I'm doing okay.

Recently as I was walking the dog, I had a brief stumble on an uneven sidewalk. I didn't fall, but I did hurl forward a few quick steps. Well, I thought, that was interesting. It wasn't a disastrous stumble. It wasn't graceful either. I guess I could call it an imperfect set of steps.

These missteps made me think about perfection and imperfection. I have an imperfect life which suits me fine (most of the time). Still, why do I feel driven toward perfection? Or do I simply seek excellence?

I spend a lot of time on sailboats or I used to spend a lot of time on sailboats (okay, okay, I will again). You've probably seen that perfect image of a sailboat in front of a setting sun. The sails are full. The boat is moving. It seems so calm, so peaceful, so perfect. Maybe there's a spinnaker (the colorful large sail that looks like a parachute).

Many times I've been on sailboats and it hasn't been perfect. The sails aren't trimmed correctly. Or the sails aren't all the way the up the mast. Or we're heeled too much or too little. Or I'm racing a sailboat, and we're (gasp) not winning the sailboat race. Or the wind has died.

Is it because I am female that I feel driven to perfection? On sailboats, I've noticed women tend to say sorry when they make a mistake while men tend to shrug it off. I tell the women they are not allowed to say sorry around me, and they look at me like I'm making a big feminist statement or at least liberating them from their insecurities.

As for me, I've been around sailboats a long time. I still make mistakes. I like to say that I don't make the same mistakes twice. I just find new ones.

Regrets? Oh there are more than a few. There are a few blog pieces that make me cringe now. But so what. All of these pieces together form a life, or a version of life that is not exactly perfectly true but in its imperfections adds up to something human. So I'm going to continue to throw the words down. And write fragmented sentences.



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