Perfect Imperfection.
*Describe a significant experience or interest that has a special meaning to you.*
The crisp October wind tickled my face as he tied the blindfold over my eyes. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he whispered. His hands were gentle on my back as he guided me to the edge. I listened as he introduced me to the crowd. He briefly explained the demonstration. Then came those words, “Okay Maddie, whenever you’re ready.” Quickly, I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. Slowly, I began the short walk across the pile of broken bottles. The glass crackled under me. “Watch your next left step,” he said. I heeded the advice because I knew it was in my best interest. With each step came a new leap of faith, trusting that I would not stumble, or place my foot directly on sharp edge. Finally, my foot landed on the cool asphalt, solid underneath my feet.
Just a few months later, I sat with my parents in the office of my new school. As the counselor shuffled through my papers, my mind wandered back to the going away party my friends had thrown me. I thought of how I missed them, how great they were, and most of all, how I wished this “big move” had never happened. Before I even realized, I was handed a school map and sent on a tour of the school with a volunteer. She babbled about my new teachers while my mind screamed, “Where the heck am I?” The tour concluded when she knocked on the door of a classroom and announced there was a new student. Me. And of course, as my luck was already bad, I waltzed into the classroom forty-five minutes late. The first time I had to change classes was horrific. I did not have any idea where my next class was, and only six minutes to find it. Six minutes may be a long time in the lobby of a doctor’s office, however, when wandering around a large, new building, six minutes is far from enough time. To help myself find it, I backed into a corner and held my map out in front of my face. The map helped me find all of my classes, and I was never late again.
I have always struggled with asking for help. It is embarrassing to admit complete helplessness. However, I’ve realized that my true problem is that I desire perfection. With this recognition came the full understanding that perfection is not attainable. While walking on broken glass, I would have been lost without the help of my instructor. He guided me to the glass, as well as giving me hints on where to step. On my first day at a new school, I could never have found my way around the building without the student volunteer and my map. Reaching out and asking for help may hurt my pride, but that is far better than a metaphorical blindfold.
Looking back on these experiences, I realize that sometimes it’s okay to reach out and ask for help. It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to have a damaged pride. It isn’t possible for me to be perfect, so why should I even attempt to achieve perfection? It would be absolutely pointless. I am perfectly imperfect, and I adore it.
The crisp October wind tickled my face as he tied the blindfold over my eyes. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he whispered. His hands were gentle on my back as he guided me to the edge. I listened as he introduced me to the crowd. He briefly explained the demonstration. Then came those words, “Okay Maddie, whenever you’re ready.” Quickly, I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants. Slowly, I began the short walk across the pile of broken bottles. The glass crackled under me. “Watch your next left step,” he said. I heeded the advice because I knew it was in my best interest. With each step came a new leap of faith, trusting that I would not stumble, or place my foot directly on sharp edge. Finally, my foot landed on the cool asphalt, solid underneath my feet.
Just a few months later, I sat with my parents in the office of my new school. As the counselor shuffled through my papers, my mind wandered back to the going away party my friends had thrown me. I thought of how I missed them, how great they were, and most of all, how I wished this “big move” had never happened. Before I even realized, I was handed a school map and sent on a tour of the school with a volunteer. She babbled about my new teachers while my mind screamed, “Where the heck am I?” The tour concluded when she knocked on the door of a classroom and announced there was a new student. Me. And of course, as my luck was already bad, I waltzed into the classroom forty-five minutes late. The first time I had to change classes was horrific. I did not have any idea where my next class was, and only six minutes to find it. Six minutes may be a long time in the lobby of a doctor’s office, however, when wandering around a large, new building, six minutes is far from enough time. To help myself find it, I backed into a corner and held my map out in front of my face. The map helped me find all of my classes, and I was never late again.
I have always struggled with asking for help. It is embarrassing to admit complete helplessness. However, I’ve realized that my true problem is that I desire perfection. With this recognition came the full understanding that perfection is not attainable. While walking on broken glass, I would have been lost without the help of my instructor. He guided me to the glass, as well as giving me hints on where to step. On my first day at a new school, I could never have found my way around the building without the student volunteer and my map. Reaching out and asking for help may hurt my pride, but that is far better than a metaphorical blindfold.
Looking back on these experiences, I realize that sometimes it’s okay to reach out and ask for help. It’s okay to be hurt. It’s okay to have a damaged pride. It isn’t possible for me to be perfect, so why should I even attempt to achieve perfection? It would be absolutely pointless. I am perfectly imperfect, and I adore it.