Wholeness Vs. Perfection
As I walk towards the mirror, I look down. The idea of perfection stands in my way (literally). I don't like my feet, they're pretty big, so we're not off to a great start, but at least my toes are painted white. Okay, so we’ve made it to the beach; now I’ll look for a bikini model without a dark happy trail. My razor is on standby at the bottom right of the mirror. Now is the moment I roll my shoulders back and attempt to jaunt my collarbones; I remind myself to skip breakfast this week. But it's okay since I've heard weight loss comes with more fixes than most; a smaller nose, a skinnier face, and a want to wear my hair back to show off a striking jawline. Mirror mirror on the wall, please make me the fairest of them all.
What I tell myself to snap out of this self-loathing behavior is that what I am experiencing is first-world problems; people would kill to have my life and I know this, so why do I take the idea of perfection over wholeness so seriously? Can I blame it on social media model comparison, the fact that I still have my 15-year-old weight memorized, or a painful memory of being denied a birthday cake because it was “too many calories”? Nobody likes an insecure person, but I don’t like to lie either.
I think being perfect is a scam since one small mistake takes forever to accept as human and not machine. I think too much, this is true, especially about my desirability to myself and to others. While I would love to feel beautiful, I am caught feeling free as I write about the truth of this very second and the past years; I guess I’d like to know when something else will take up most of my thoughts.
So what is the score? It’s a win when I skip a meal a day but a loss when I feel full in bed. This is backward and I know it; my heart is tired of pumping blood through a girl who doesn’t even appreciate the anatomy she has. I am a figure instead of a person. The difference between the two is a goal of perfection and a defeat lying in wholeness. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but not everyone has an acquired taste. The type to order chicken tenders and fries everywhere seems to also go for the same tactic when scouting out their “type.” How ludicrous to shut yourself off from the nutrient-dense array of food on this planet; didn't they teach us to never judge a book by its cover?
