Being Perfect


No, ladies and gentleman, I am not perfect. I know that might come as a shock to some of you, but it’s true. I might have stayed at a Holiday Inn Express last night, but I’m not perfect. Someone very close to me just asked me, “Why are you so fucking perfect?” My reply? “Because I realize when I’m not.” There is no such thing as perfection, at least not in our mortal realm. So what is it about being perfect? I might have said the perfect thing, or I might have relayed a perfect feeling. That doesn’t make me perfect, but that doesn’t mean I’m not perfect for someone.

In this scenario, she was talking to her friend. She really wants to talk to me, and I really want to talk to her; however, I know, right now, she needs to talk to her friend. It’s a tiny sacrifice that I’m willing to take for her long-term happiness. If she’s happy long term, so am I. Right now, her friend can provider her more comfort for this particular situation than I can. How do I know? We’ve been talking about this scenario for a while. When it comes to dealing with questions, guilt, thoughts, etc, I cannot give any more value to the conversation. Shit, I’m fucking biased. I admit that. What she needs is a third-party to show her a different perspective. I cannot do that, and I know it. I won’t try to pretend I do. In fact, today, I told her that. I told her that I can say this and that, but since I haven’t lived it, my words don’t mean anything.

Part of being perfect is knowing you’re imperfect. This isn’t “12 Monkeys” level of deep. It’s simple. Who are the best Christians? It’s not the ones that preach. It’s the ones who live it. As my grandma used to say, “Talk is cheap. It takes money to buy whiskey.” I can master human psychology and say all the right things, but if my actions do not match my words, I’m a fucking dick hole. I say what I mean, and I mean what I say. I might not be perfect, but I’m perfect for her.


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