That kind of perfect

Don't expect too much from yourself.

Set realistic goals.

Know when you've hit your limits.

Words of wisdom that I frequently blow through at a hundred miles an hour, appearing just long enough for me to see them in my rear view mirror and wave goodbye.

Because what I really want is to be perfect.
Not to have people think I'm perfect. That's something else entirely. I think I frequently show that I'm not scared for people to see me just as I am.
But I wish what I was was perfect. Ish. I'd settle for perfect-ish because I do, in fact, know that the role for one perfect person was taken long ago and there are no other openings.
But you can't tell me that I can't be perfect-ish because I see people doing it all the time with my own eyes.

I want to be that kind of perfect that my friend is when she gives her whole patient self to her six children and never loses her temper. (Like never. I'm not kidding)

I want to be the kind of perfect that I see when I walk into a house that is riddled with pandemonium and littered with toys and chaos and my friend breezes around with a smile and is like, "peace out, my friends."

I want to be the kind of perfect that I see when I look at my friend whose only two children are autistic and she uses up every ounce of her being to make the world a friendlier place for her daughters. While she runs a dance studio in her basement. While she volunteers for every committee and remembers half birthdays. (Seriously, I didn't know there were half birthdays...)

I want to be the kind of perfect like that person who hugs anyone and anything (strangers included) and doesn't give them a chance to feel embarrassed about it because life is just too short to waste on handshakes.

I want to be the kind of perfect that I see in people who who have full-time jobs and families and are busy but you call them and they say, "Oh, a piano? I love moving pianos! Let's do this thing!" Or the single moms I love who never think of themselves because there isn't time to wonder if they want to do something or not. They just give.

I want to be the sort of perfect that I see  when someone stands up for what they believe in no matter the consequence of social outrage or ostracism. (Like admitting you still like watching old re-runs of Full House)

I want to be the kind of perfect like my husband who can put in a sixteen hour day and never once, never, ever, (freakishly never) say he is tired or worn out.  (I, on the other hand, fold a towel and stretch and groan and say how exhausted I am)

I want to be the kind of perfect where I could go outside and do this:

I am surrounded by the kind of perfect I want to be every day. And I might wear myself down and out trying to imitate some little scraps of perfection, but I'd rather be worn through, short of my goal by a thousand miles, and a little better than be comfortable, practical and realistic and just the same old me.

So if you ever wonder why I am trying so hard to make the beds, while simultaneously wishing I didn't care about the state of my beds...
Or watch me try to play memory with my five year old when I really don't care where the other roller skate is...
Or see me trying a recipe with capers in it when I don't even know what they are (are they like peppers made out of fish?)...
Just smile and let me go.
I'm really busy completely failing at being perfect.