I’m not perfect. I’m far from it.

I cry. I kick and scream. I stutter and slur. I think every idea I have is an amazing one. I get stressed out. I’m stubborn. I procrastinate. I’m overly concerned about my appearance. Of course, I don’t always like to admit any of this. Then again who does. These are all considered points of imperfection.

For 30 plus years I went on and on chasing perfection. Perfect job. Perfect relationship. Perfect life. Perfect body. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Have you ever felt similarly? We’re conditioned to believe in perfection from an early age. Nobody really wants to talk about it, though. It’s considered a point of imperfection.

Recently I was one of 10,000 attendees at the legendary Newport Folk Festival. I got to watch amazingly talented artists like Margo Price, Amanda Shires, Sturgill Simpson, and Jason Isbell. I couldn’t help but realize they also wanted perfection in their music but perhaps they found it in a different way. Price inspired with her message while showcasing her musical versatility. Shires displayed a quirky and more delicate version of rock n’ roll. Simpson played the guitar with anger channeling his inner Jimi Hendrix. And Isbell engaged with his embattled past while being as polished as ever. It was perfection through embracing their imperfections.

This reminded me about a resounding thought I woke up to a morning not long ago…

Sometimes I think to myself, Finally I’ve got it all figured out.

I might be talking about a musician, a pair of shoes, or a TV show. Time and time again, I’ve caught myself saying, Absolute best, hands down.

Have you ever said that?

I remember convincing myself I could eat chicken and brown rice every day for the rest of my life. I realized it was nuts (although I still try). I also thought I could write a blog post (like this) daily. It took only a month to realize I couldn’t realistically fit that into my schedule. So I modified to once a month.

After 11 years in sales, I figured I knew everything I needed to about “selling”, so I started groundupSALES—only to realize about three months in I was just scratching the surface. Oops. I was a little off with that one. Every time I read a new book, my life seems to shift. I learn something I didn’t know before, and that experience adds to all the others. It proceeds to affect everything else I was thinking about. Slightly changing whatever I’m absolutely sure about at that moment. So, what gives?

What’s really going on here?

I love my dad.

He might be the kindest and most compassionate person I know. He’d give you the shirt off his back, even if that meant he’d be shirtless.

Other people love him, too. Of course, they love him for those reasons. But they also love that he screams at the TV when the Giants fumble, or when the ump blows a strike call. They think it’s hilarious when he calls someone a jerk because they have an ugly haircut. And that he insists on telling the same story about “nickel drafts” at Shady Brady’s bar, over and over and over again.

The very things that drive me up the wall. A wall of insanity. Again, Dad? Again, really?

I proceed to get pissed and banter with him, back n’ forth. And at the end of the day, I’m frustrated and exhausted. But I always come back for more bickering. Why do I do that? Why do WE do that?

If someone wrote you a check for $1 million today, what would you do with it?

New car? New home? Pay-off debt? Maybe a vacation?

Damn, this would be exciting. And it would definitely relieve some pressure. No denying that. Shiny objects are fun. And pressure sucks.

Me? Not sure. A few years ago, I'd have said, new Benz maybe. Definitely goodbye mortgage. Forget a vacation—a new vacation pad in Miami sounds more my appetite. I mean, it does sound amazing.

Okay, so after that, what would you do the next day?

I’ve heard some people say, “Easy, I’d quit my job” or “Tell my boss to go screw himself.” Surely these all might be good options. And fun ones, too.

But, for a moment, even if it’s just right now, think about this question a little deeper.

It’s 6 o’clock in the morning. Your alarm is screaming at you, and you think to yourself, WTF, already!?

SLAM. Your hand hits the nightstand as you reach to find the snooze button just so you can twist n’ turn for nine more minutes. It’s your average Monday morning.

Just the thought of Betty telling you what to do when you roll into work and the monotony of daily tasks that lay ahead make you want to curl up in a ball and cry.

Ring, snooze. Twist n’ turn. Ring, snooze. Finally, with one eye open, you grab your phone to turn that freaking alarm off.

Do I need to tell you what happens next? The force is strong with this one.