Have you ever heard of a lemming?

I hadn’t either until I played the video game GoldenEye for Nintendo 64 in 1997. They’re small rodents that typically live in very cold habitats. It’s said that every few years, enraged herds of lemmings band together, run off a cliff, and commit mass suicide. In the game, if you happened to kill yourself more times than anyone else, you received none other than the “lemming award.” For the next twenty years, I went on believing this story about lemmings.

Quite literally, it wasn’t until I went to research more about lemmings for this very article that I learned this whole story was nonsense…

It was summer 2015 when I first started to realize I could swim in the sea of debt I’d been piling up. It really didn’t matter how much I earned, I spent more. It was a pretty crappy feeling.

There’s was a world of pressure to ensure I’d keep spending too. Just tap the Instagram or Facebook icon on your cell phone. This pressure of leading a life focused on outcomes was really starting to weigh on me. I started wondering, What if something unpredictable happens? What if I don’t have a six-figure income anymore? Am I really that stable right now? What if I can’t keep this rollercoaster moving along? I saw myself as someone who was secure, strong, and stable. But, was I really? Honestly, at the time, hoping I’d land on my feet was my only hope…

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?