Where perfection ends, creation begins.

Perfect. What a load of nonsense. All perfect does is torture us.

The moment we start idealizing, fantasizing, we stop creating. We stop living in the moment. We stop allowing life to surprise us, to provide us with opportunities to pop its head around the corner and say hello.

We are writing life every second. How absurd is it to be stuck in a different reality — all the should’ves would’ves could’ves — and then turn around and miss the reality right in front of us. Every second of course correction, every second of creation, gone. We’re taking the quill for writing a perfect reality and throwing it to the wolves. We’re not just shooting ourselves in the foot. We’re caging ourselves in broad daylight.

It’s far easier for us to blame someone, somebody — even a past self — than to step into the ambiguity and uncertainty of possibility. The realm of possibility is a liminal sphere — a wispy, ephemeral reality. You stand in its soft beckoning light and wiggle your toes — it’s awkward. Hello? Am I meant to be here? Do I know anyone here? What now? At first glance, there’s nothing that seems worthy of focus. But there is the possibility for reinvention, for recreation, for redefinition that lies in the wings. It’s latent. If you yell, if you declare, it’s gone.

When we should’ve would’ve could’ve, we step into this space of possibility with a defiance of a world that we have no control over. How absurd is it to conjure up some fantasy and convince ourselves that it would automagically be a better reality. When we do this, we stop lingering in the limelight. We don’t leave space for a deep breath because if we did take a deep breath, a pause, that moment becomes a transition, an inflection point. We can either reflex to right where we came from, none the wiser. Or we can inflect and start writing. Start creating.

The moment we stop creating in our heads, creation begins.

And when the natural process of creation is on pause, we are missing opportunity after opportunity after opportunity of creation, padlocked behind doors of alternate realities. Endless moments that could surprise us, fill us with intense joy, intense grief — moments of creation that will never get to see the light of day.

Dreaming of perfection is absurd. When can we reclaim perfection to be acceptance? A bold maneuver into the ether of possibility for a brilliant (and at times terrible) future? And knowing that we went on that journey, that we had our stake in the ground with no clue what would await us on the other side. Doesn’t that make it perfect? Doesn’t that make it enough?

So linger a little longer, even if it takes all your might to stay. Wiggle those toes and take that deep breath, even if your chest is heavy with regret. Notice it all, notice the waves crashing over your body, because once they retreat, it’s time for you to jump in and start writing a new reality. A reality that is pretty perfect because not only did you create it — you chose to create it.