mynamesearn

I’ve been watching Nip/Tuck on Prime the past few days. At first, I didn’t think I’d like it. It’s basically about two pathetic men doing stupid shit and spiraling and it’s way more dramatic than I expected.You’d think grown-ass 40-year-old surgeons would have some sort of maturity, but no. They’re out here acting like chaotic teenagers. The whole thing is just wild.

But also… I kind of like it? There’s something weirdly comforting about watching rich people with ridiculous problems completely lose it. It makes me feel better about my own mess. Like okay, at least I’m not that bad. At least I don’t have a god complex and ruin everyone’s life in the process. Watching other people fall apart especially when they have money and abs and zero emotional intelligence, it’s oddly satisfying.

Anyway, in the middle of all the drama, there was this one line that stuck with me:
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be perfect, but only if you’re willing to fail.”

And I’ve never really considered myself a perfectionist. I don’t need everything to be flawless. I like the cracks, the raw edges, the mess. I actually love imperfection. It feels more real to me.

But then again, what even is perfection? It’s not some universal truth, it’s individual. What looks like “perfect” to you might look totally chaotic to me. And vice versa. It’s like beauty, or taste. Subjective as hell.

I used to think wanting to be perfect was a toxic trait. Like, ew. Who even wants to be perfect when real is better than perfect, right? But that’s not always true. Sometimes I do want to be perfect.

I want things to go exactly how I pictured them. I want the words to flow, the job to work out, the love story to be hopeless romantic. I want to be seen as someone who’s got it together, even if I never really have.

But perfection without room for failure is torture. It’s not ambition anymore, it’s pressure. There’s nothing wrong with wanting your life to be beautiful or fucking excellent. But you have to let it fall apart too. You have to be okay with trying things that might not work. You have to be okay with people seeing you messy, cringe, or worse.

And the more I grow up, the more I realize maybe it’s not about perfection itself. Maybe it’s about our relationship to failure. Because me? I hate failing. I get frustrated when I don’t get things right the first few times. I want to be good at it now.

And maybe I gave up on things too quickly and told myself I “didn’t care” when really, I was just scared to keep failing. Maybe I romanticized imperfection not because I truly embraced it but because I was protecting myself from disappointment.

I’ve always had this thing in my head that if I can’t do something perfectly in a few tries, maybe it’s not for me. But… why? Who even made that rule? Oh, right. Me. I made it. I boxed myself in, told myself what I could and couldn’t be good at. And now I’m realizing how much I’ve limited myself because of that mindset.

Lately, I’ve been going through a weird internal shift. With Uranus in Gemini (yes, I’m that bitch bringing up astrology), I’ve been deep in reflection mode. Auditing my thoughts. Seeing which ones still make sense and which ones I’ve outgrown.

And it’s wild how much I’ve changed. There are things I believed so strongly when I was younger that just don’t make sense anymore. I used to think I had to be one thing or the other. Now I see the bigger picture. I can change. I do change. And that’s a good thing.

That line from Nip/Tuck also made me think about how much I actually do care about being good enough. How maybe deep down, we all have that little perfectionist voice inside. It just shows up in different ways.

Some people obsess over their work. Some people obsess over their appearance. Some people obsess over being liked. And some of us… we pretend not to care. But we do. We care a lot. We just hide it in sarcasm or detachment.

And honestly, I think we’re all way harsher on ourselves than we are on anyone else. We judge ourselves to a degree that’s almost cruel, and then we start projecting those judgments onto other people. I’ve done that. I still do that sometimes. I catch myself mid-thought, like, Wait… am I really mad at them, or am I just mad at myself?

I’m learning to stop doing that. But I won’t lie and say I’ve got it all figured out. Some days I’m chill, grounded, self-aware. Other days, someone breathes wrong and I’m spiraling. It happens. We’re human. And being human is messy. So why are we all so obsessed with being perfect all the time?

Maybe I just need to redefine what “imperfect” means for me. Not as a flaw, but as… life. Real, unfiltered life. Because trying to hold everything together all the time? It’s exhausting. At some point, the pressure gets too heavy, and you break. I don’t want to break. I don’t want to live like a ticking time bomb.

And you know what? I actually like my life right now. It’s not perfect by any means. But it’s mine. I like my boring little routine. I like knowing what to expect. I like that I can slow down, and no one’s expecting me to be a million-dollar version of myself. That’s my version of perfect.

Another thing I’ve picked up from Nip/Tuck? Narcissists. You can spot them a mile away in that show. And the longer you watch, the clearer it gets, they don’t love themselves. They hate themselves. So much of that behavior is rooted in trauma. A lot of them were neglected or abused or hurt when they were young, and narcissism became their armor.

And honestly? The more I think about it, the more I believe people-pleasers are just a softer form of narcissism. I know, sounds weird, but hear me out. When you’re constantly trying to be likable, when you need external validation to feel okay, there’s a weird overlap there. It’s like you’re building your self-worth through other people’s eyes. That’s me. That’s been me. Probably still is, on some days.

Now that I’m 26, I approach people differently. I’m more open. I give people grace. Even when someone does something I don’t like, I try to stay calm. But let’s be real, some days, it doesn’t work. Some days I explode over something small. Some days the old me shows up with a megaphone. Healing isn’t linear. It’s just a bunch of loops and restarts and oh shit, not this again moments.

Maybe I still want a perfect life like everyone else. But I’ve stopped pretending that means having it all figured out. I don’t think we ever do. I don’t think the things we worry about now will matter in the end. So why waste time chasing someone else’s version of perfect?

I’m not becoming a millionaire today. I’m not living some Pinterest-perfect dream either. And that’s okay. But I wake up every day and find joy even in the smallest, dumbest moments. Even if I’m crying, even if the day sucks, I still find something to laugh at. And maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s everything.

So yeah. I’ll take my imperfect, joyful, boring, chaotic, quiet, loud, simple, dramatic little life and make it the best damn version of mine.