Confessions of a perfectionist

I have a confession to make. I am a perfectionist, and I have a perfect ideal of myself which, I am obviously not there yet.

I want to be a talented musician, excellent singer, agile sportsperson, versatile dancer, knowledgeable student.

I want to be smart, pretty, flexible, adept at interpersonal relations. I want to be able to learn things with a snap of the finger, have a performer's intuition, entertain others, able to accept criticisms and work on it.

I want to be really flexible, to be able to do splits, to reach high notes effortlessly, to have pitch-perfect singing, to have such nimble fingers, to have dimples, bigger boobs and perfect fair skin.

I used to blame my genetics and upbringing for not being to reach any of those. After all, it's better to have a reason then to admit I'm not able to do it.

Then one day, I suddenly saw it another way.

If I was so far from perfect by birth, how much have I been given to be able to dream these dreams today.

I am definitely not a born talent, but I dare to dream, and I dare to work for it.

So I will be.