The Quest for Perfection

I started this blog four weeks ago and, though I hoped people would read it, I did not expect people to react so strongly to it. I did not expect people (friends and strangers alike) to send me words of thanks, of understanding, of encouragement, of support. I did not expect this blog to mean something to so many in such a short amount of time. I did not expect this blog to mean so much to me. And I certainly did not expect this blog to inspire one of the most fascinating women I have ever known (a cherished friend) to start sharing a blog of her own (which she had been writing in secret).

Thank you to those of you who have read, commented, and emailed. It is a wonderful (if somewhat jarring) feeling to know that the words I put “out there” rouse something “in here” (I am touching my heart) for so many of you.

However - and I write these words with nothing but affection and appreciation for all of you - I do not blog for you. I blog for myself.

I love that my words have meant something to others. It is my sincerest hope that my exploration of wellness and my wanderings along its path will motivate others to seek a more balanced way of life. It is my dream that dreamers worldwide will dream a new worldview into being.

But the main purpose of this blog is not to entertain or enlighten. The purpose is simply to share.

And I need this fact to be clear, in my own head, or else the self-imposed pressure to make this blog “good enough” will invite the fear of failure to penetrate my mind and poison my thoughts, stifling my voice and killing my creative potential.

This has happened before. (In fact, it was happening today as I wrestled with writers' block and felt like I had nothing inspiring to say).

The fear of failure (or the quest for perfection) has followed me, haunted me, taunted me, and crippled me time and time and time again.

The fear of failure is the fear of life. It stems from the deep-seated belief that I am not “good enough.” Or strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough. It is a fear that slithers its way into the heart and destroys all feelings of faith, trust, well-being. It makes the journey one of struggle and strife. The world becomes a battlefield.

The quest for perfection is, in essence, the exact same thing. One who seeks perfection is undoubtedly terrified of failure. The seeking of perfection is the denying of the divine that dwells within every one of us. It is a rejection of self-love and acceptance. It is an all-encompassing emotion of inadequacy, of incompetence. It comes from a place of unease and it infuses our days with anxiety and pain.

I do not know why or how or when my debilitating fear of failure started or when my adventure on this planet became a hopeless hunt for perfection. I am not that interested in the why or the how or the when. I am only interested in (and grateful for) my emerging awareness of the detrimental consequences of fear-based living and my newfound courage to embrace a more free-flowing way of life.

I am already perfect. So are you. So is everything.

So is this blog.

It doesn’t matter whether my posts are published on Monday mornings or evenings. It doesn’t matter whether my posts are published regularly at all. It doesn’t matter whether my writing is deemed satisfactory or not. It doesn’t matter whether my words inform or inspire or influence or not. It doesn’t matter who reads this blog and it certainly doesn’t matter who judges this blog.

All that matters is that I am here, right now, writing. And in this precious, precious moment unlike any other moment, I am not afraid of failing nor am I seeking an impossible ideal. Like a child, untouched by criticism, worry, or doubt, I make my way along the path, skipping to the beat of my own heart.

I write. I reflect. I learn. I share.

And this, I know, is “good enough.”

***

This week’s affirmation: I trust life.

How Did I Get Here?

I had a dream. A big dream. I was the small-town girl who was going to “make it.”

I pursued the dream that way I was supposed to. I took the classes, got the degree, moved to the city, put myself “out there,” and, before I knew it, the dream started coming true.

It felt like magic. It was magic.

Years and years of holding on to a dream were finally paying off! I was on my way up! Meeting people I'd always wanted to meet! Making connections I'd always wanted to make! Rocking auditions I'd always wanted to rock! I had an agent, a union invitation, my films screened on big screens! It was happening! I was happening!

I was ecstatic! Triumphant! Absolutely, absolutely thrilled!

Then, unexpectedly, things started to change. I started to change. I am still not sure what, exactly, brought on this change but I suspect there were a few factors at play - the books I was reading, the age I was turning, the friends I was making, the inner-work I had started doing.

After some time, I came to a startling (and devastating) realization: my dream was no longer making me happy.

I was not completely unhappy. I enjoyed the applause at the end of the show. I thrived on the accolades. I was proud when old friends from high school (even elementary school) wrote to me and said, “Congratulations! You are the only one actually achieving their childhood dream.”

All of this filled me up with a great sense of accomplishment. And not just accomplishment, but worth.

But it was all, I eventually came to understand, very, very superficial.

I was smiling on the outside, but not on the inside. The pursuit of my dream was no longer fueled by true passion and joy, but by an ego desperately thirsty for recognition and praise.

My ego was ruling my life. And all aspects of my health were suffering because of it.

So, I stopped.

(I did not quit. I chose to stop. The difference between the two is huge. Quitting is giving up - giving up our power and our pride. Choosing, on the other hand, is growing up and learning to listen to the knowing in our gut.)

I participated in a few minor projects for friends whom I admired and respected and enjoyed working with. But I stopped all the rest - the headshots, the submissions, the auditions. I dropped my agent. I did not join the union.

This was not easy. But it was easier than the other scary thing I absolutely had to do: tell people.

I worried about what they would think - they, the wonderful people who had supported my dream from the beginning. They, the ones who cheered the loudest when I landed a role. They, the ones who never, ever said, “Don’t try.” They, the ones who allowed me to believe that I would one day have my star in Hollywood.

They, my family.

I felt like I had failed them. And this is what hurt the most.

But I did tell my family. And my friends. And myself. I spoke the words I never thought I’d speak. I gave myself permission to change my mind. To change my dream. To speak the truth.

My ego did not like this. It tried to make me feel ashamed and guilty and defeated. It tried to fill my heart with doubt. It laughed when I stumbled and it roared so loudly some nights that I could not get to sleep.

But this, I knew, was exactly the kind of life I no longer wanted to live: a life controlled by my ego. So in its pitiful attempts to confuse me, my ego gave me the special gift of clarity. The more it tried to suck me back in, the more I fought against it. The more it tried to drown out my intuition, the harder I listened to the voice deep within.

And now, here I am. Living and loving a different kind of life. One that gets me excited to jump out of bed every morning. I am learning to enjoy the the process, the voyage, the moments. I no longer need the end result to be one of praise and accolades. It’s not about that anymore.

Someday, in the near or distant future, the perfect project may present itself and I may choose to embrace it and delve into the world of performance once again. But this choice, I know, will be guided by genuine excitement and enthusiasm rather than a distorted notion of success and a crippling fear of letting people down.

The past two years have taught me so much about the world and my place in the world. One of the key things I have learned is that dreams change. And that is ok.

Nothing in the world is fixed, it is all fluid. As we go through the cycles of life, we change, we grow, we expand and our dreams change, and grow, and expand with us. A childhood dream should never start to feel like a life-sentence and, when it does, it is time to take a good hard look at the reasons for this.

I have many dreams. Big dreams. I am a small-town girl and I am “making it” every single moment of every single day.

***

This week's affirmation: I live my dream.