Earlier today, my partner blogged about doing, instead of trying. She and I have often conversed about my need for things to be perfect.

A few months ago, a friend of mine featured some open letters on her blog. I really liked the format, and I’ve decided I’m going to borrow it. She’s been nagging me to write, so I’m sure she won’t mind.

Dear Perfect,

We’ve been dancing around this for months, years, decades. You show up in your high heels and your fancy pants. That’s right, I said fancy pants. You’ve lured me in one too many times – stroking my face tenderly, only to disappear right when I thought you were in my reach.

I don’t know why it’s taken me so long, but I’ve finally realized something – you’re unattainable. And you know what? I’m okay with that. Why? Because, I don’t want you anymore. It just isn’t working out. I’d say that it’s not you, it’s me, but that wouldn’t be fair to you or me. Why? Because, it isn’t me. It’s you.

You’ve whispered sweet nothings into my ear, “it’s almost good enough. You can’t finish yet. You can’t ship. It has to be… perfect.” Well, guess what – I am finished. And, I am shipping – I’m shipping you – right out the door.

And, just to show you that I’m serious? I’m not going to be their when your trying to get back into my life. That’s right – I misspelled their and your. Are you loosing your mind yet?

This isn’t meant to be mean-spirited. This isn’t easy for me. It’s hard to end a relationship that has defined the core of who you are for so very long. But, I have to. If I wish to live a life of courage and authenticity, I need to live a life without you.

So, hit the road, Perfect. And, don’t you come back (no more, no more).

Love,

Samantha