Perfection is most elusive to me. I know better than to pursue it. And yet I try and try again eventually slapping my forehead remembering “oh right, I’m imperfectly perfect”! For a while I relax in this space, temporarily eluding my own ego pursuing absolute perfection. Perhaps I should send my perfectionist tendencies away…maybe they would like a trip to Paris. I imagine The Perfectionist in me as a cute smiley face wearing a french beret, navy and white striped t-shirt with a backpack slung over it’s shoulder. It’s arm is sticking out of the bus window, excitedly waving goodbye as the bus drives off to Paris. I have no desire to figure out how the bus will get across the ocean to Paris. I guess that means the visualization is working already. See you later Perfectionist. Now that The Perfectionist is away I can get back to realizing what a wonderful human being I am…even with what I perceive as sometimes less than perfect behavior. But there’s the inevitable all too human situation that appears. It’s the party. I dread parties. I know that makes me sound like a loser. I’m not. I just don’t enjoy parties. They’re work. Being perfect would sure come in handy for the upcoming party. Once again I’m face to face with desiring what eludes me. In this case, the party is a low key neighborhood happy hour. It’s really no big deal. So, instead of my usual introvert behavior standing at the appetizer table and eating my way through the party, I attempt conversation. It’s just never been my strong suit. Even in my career, I dreaded “the party”. My parent’s parties…friend’s parties. Especially wedding receptions (why are they so long?), showers (double ugh), happy hours (unhappy because usually in a noisy restaurant bar), the annual office holiday party (it’s easier but do NOT drink), and networking events. However, in this case, I like my new neighborhood and I decide to make a good effort during our casual, mostly not scary, outdoor happy hour. The later it gets the more I literally throw myself into conversations. It’s election season so the best analogy is that I came off as though I was running for office and kinda self-absorbed. No, really. In some cases it seemed I was nominating my husband for office. Immediately afterwards The Perfectionist caught the next bus back and I revisited those happy hour conversations for days. I want to run after those who witnessed my vulnerabilities translating themselves to my less than perfect obnoxious? behavior and words. “That’s not usually me” I want to tell them. But imagined conversations are very dissatisfying because they aren’t real. My dissection of the evening of now epic proportions is just silly. It begins to take up my meditation time, makes an appearance while I walk in the woods, while I’m on a bike in my spinning class, driving in my car, and as I’m writing this blog post. After many days, I’m too worn out to have regrets or embarrassment any longer. I land somewhere between “bite me” and “whateverrrr”. I remind myself who I am, of my uniqueness, quirkiness, my healthy introversion, and other very human personality traits. That’s the good stuff. I guess perfection is elusive for a good reason.