Contemplation

Perfection dictates standards. To some, these words hum positively to their ears. They threaten life with limitations to others.

Only just now I have understood why I have not been able to succeed in certain things in life. At least, I have found insight into what I had perceived as a mental obstacle. I can’t remember exactly when, but one day, many years ago, someone somewhere planted in my wandering mind the hideous idea that “practice makes perfect”.

To someone whose life have been rocked high and low with dreams and ambitions and faint promises, the furthest thought I’d want to contemplate is accepting that optimal existence requires perfection; that things ought to be in a certain flawless way, without impurities, and simply, but most sophisticatedly, highly purposeful.

Fortunately, only to my recent realization, aided by a blues-note, I found that loosening up a bit is not such a bad idea. Perhaps I’ll continue living by numbers, only now I won’t be rounding them up and instead keep the fractions intact.

Practice ought to be fun, inspiring, and improving. It certainly ought not to make perfect.