perfect

I wrote this novel with a desire to land something of a tribute to my own perfectionism: that is, a utopia – something that is impossible.

a short excerpt:

I wanted everything to be perfect.

It is the motivating call to arms every single day, and I kept failing, miserably.

No matter how hard I try, I never seemed to attain whatever mystical, obstructionist perfection I needed to satisfy my own high standards.

This desire for perfection is all-consuming and abundant.

In the back of my mind, I knew this would be my downfall.  This behaviour wasn’t possible to continue.  I yearned for solutions to the smallest imperfections, the slightest of errors.

It was a time when I opened up the Christmas gift catalogue and stared innocently, and longingly, at the children’s magic kits and knew that if I had, and only had, those magic kits, I would become a magician  With that magician’s power, I could do anything, such as renovate my house, bring back dead pets, and find true happiness at the end of the rainbow.

Oh how I wish someone would have convinced me all I was searching for then – and now – was ill-informed and wrongly headed.

I want nothing more than to be better than this moment, and better than yesterday, and flawless.

The expectation is rooted so deep I don’t have anyone else to blame; I can’t look to religion (have none) or friends (with no expectations for me) to blame.  I can’t help but think I was born this way to desire a world so perfect that only my own self could realize this.

The trouble is this expectation manifests itself terribly.  I argue incessantly, for I expect everyone to agree with me.  I think of myself as an undiscovered messiah, someone who will bring peace to the world if only others would lay down their weapons and shut up for a moment to hear what I have to say.  I complicate interpersonal relationships because I want to have the flawless, grotesquely manifested in fiction kind of partnership that only exists in a fairy tale.  In essence, I want a fairy tale to come true.

So as I start out on this incredible journey, let me hope that I can figure out a way to end this search for perfection.  Let me live this fairy tale and accept it with all of its flaws.  Let Cuba be my utopia.