Freedom to Fail

Cheers to all the perfectionists.

If you don't know what that means, you aren't one. A perfectionist is someone who demands perfection in themselves and especially in their work. At the worst case scenario, a perfectionist can also demand perfection in their surroundings, environment, and friends, and it can become crippling. At the best, a perfectionist can nearly drop a project entirely when they make a mistake.

If you know you're a perfectionist, it's probably because you've heard people say "just let it go" and "why is this bugging you?" or even "it's not that big of a deal" all your life. Why? Because at the core of perfectionism, your standard for excellence is higher than your peers, and they just don't understand that. Before I go on with the dangers of perfectionism, I want you to hear me: don't you ever lower your standard for excellence. It's high for a reason. Because you are the only one that can reach that height. It's not an unattainable goal, and it certainly won't be perfect, but it's excellence. Be proud of that.

Now, perfectionism can also be paralyzing. Either an idea never moves from your mind because you are too afraid to put mistake-caked hands to a perfect image in your mind, or the idea moves to creation, and there has already been a mistake. The former is a paralyzing fear of failure, and the second is a devastating reality of failure. I don't know from where the idea of perfection came in our society, but there is a simple cure. In fact, the cure is the ailment: mistakes.

You don't have to be perfect.

If you want to make art perfect, then you are in the wrong field. Art is a firsthand representation of humanity, and humanity, you guessed it, is flawed. Therefore, art will have mistakes. Do you think Da Vinci didn't make a mistake when he painted the Mona Lisa, that his hand didn't shake at least once? The reason the Mona Lisa exists is because Da Vinci allowed the possibility of mistakes and created something beautiful, a famous masterpiece. He also had years of experience which is a fancy way of saying, he made some mistakes. By that point, he knew how to deal with the mistakes or how to not make them. Being a master at something doesn't mean you never make mistakes, it only means you know what to do when you encounter them.

Perfectionism is a gift and a curse. You will fight for all you can to reach that standard of excellence, but you have to be okay with not being perfect. In other words, make a mistake. I guarantee you, if you make a mistake, it will either end up being the most significant piece of your masterpiece that you wouldn't change for the world or you will simply learn from it and move on. You don't have to make mistakes, but you are allowed to.

So pick up that novel you've been working on, that painting you've been thinking about, or that tune you've been humming. Then go to your safe place, close the door, and create. In that room, there is no judgement. You can make whatever mistake you want, and it's not any less art than when you began. It's amazing what you'll find you can do behind closed doors. You discover the freedom to fail. And something beautiful emerges--it always does.

And then, when you've mastered the freedom to fail, open the door, let the world in...

And fail some more.

Soliloquy for Curiosity

Curiosity’s Soliloquy

By Kim Camacho

"I remember her like a sunset.

Vibrant in color and mysterious in form.

Here, for a painted moment.

A mere brushstroke of enthrallment.

And then as quick as she lit up, so natural and bright,

she fell into the horizon of red, blue and starry dreams.

And with the strength of an eagle, flew far, far away into the golden hue of opportunity.

I watched as humble sight-seeing became violent vision matches.

As the universe became a racetrack of panthers with asses for heads.

How the wisest and boldest of men became the prey of the money-bagging hyenas; watching, waiting for contraptions of genius to spur out of the flower pot heads, only then to be plucked out from the stem to the roots; Leaving barely any soil left for planting new seeds of thought.

I saw the sculptured ideas of artists become the constructed advertisements for illusionists.

I watched a beautiful idea become transformed by the possibility addict and his companion, the boldness junkie.

Adventure became manipulating women who allowed for no wrong turns.

Conversation has become an electric fruit that Eve and Adam couldn’t even resist.

And the world has learned to be content with the plastic, medicated joy and drunken success they think they have achieved. But worst of all, I have become a distant memory.

My love doesn’t even think about me any more.

She is too consumed in facts and logic and information that she has forgotten the source of those elements.

She has forgotten that all those are paths not destinations. And they lead to an idea not an item.

My love tells answers rather than seeks truth.

And truth is the only way to make a thought an idea.

Truth makes books into stories.

Paintings into feelings.

Technology into advancements.

Truth is also the only way to discern between a fact and a lie.

Truth is a beautiful enlightenment, and my love is lacking this beacon of life.

I can see it in her plastered face and famined form.

In her hopeless eyes and deafened ears.

I see how you hurt my love, and oh how I wish I could go back to that shore where you first appeared on the horizon.

Full of vibrance and innocent rays of warmth.

So much hope in your pure face.

You may not know, but it was at this moment that I came to be.

I am yours. You brought out the best in every part of me.

And killed everything I was.

But I still love you.

And you can bring it back, my twisted moon dance.

My peculiar masterpiece.

My intriguing perception.

You can bring my glory back if you wish.

Only if you wish.

But ah, my darling, I cannot make you.

It is your decision and yours alone.

You have allowed me to fade in the darkness as the poison of contorted notions has overtaken your light.

I cannot make you shine, I cannot give you joy, I cannot exist in a state of “okay.”

I can only live if there is a longing and something to long for.

And when there’s nothing to long for, nothing to discover, no truth to be learned…

Then I, your precious and ever waiting, curiosity, must remain in the shadows. Until I once again shine brighter than the darkness."