You know when you’re lying awake, sleepless at night, and your sneaky little brain decides to remind you of all the stupid mistakes you’ve made in your life?
I had one of those recently. I recalled a conversation I had with a friend nearly two years ago. We met at a cafe in London, she had recently moved from New York and we had been somewhat close friends in College. I asked her what she was doing for work and she said that she was doing something in the music space as a promoter for indie bands.
For reason, I replied:
“Ah, so a waste of that college degree huh?”
…
As if that was an acceptable thing to say. I was mortified the moment I said it. My cheeks went red, and I felt that all-too-familiar wave of embarrassment. She looked at me a little taken aback — as one understandably would — and I scrambled to make it into a joke. To this day, I don’t know why I said such a thing. She’s gone on to be the head of events at this company, notably doing well for herself and, although I don’t see her that often, I’m still bothered by my response.
It’s weird how, even years later, that small interaction still bothers me greatly. The rational (and probably less socially awkward) side of my brain knows that everybody says stupid things, does stupid things. We stumble around, we change our minds, but most of all, we take these small mistakes so personally. But even so, I can’t shake the feeling that just one verbal mistake is the determining factor for how the rest of our relationship would play out. I bet she probably doesn’t even recall that moment, but I do.
I remember reaching a point last year when I felt like I was constantly messing everything up — I was incredibly frustrated with where I was in life and questioned if the path I had chosen was the right one. I eventually came to the realisation that it shouldn’t matter. As long as I kept showing up and doing my best, as long as I forgave myself for being human – flaws, failures, and all.
I think in this digital age — and not to use media as the source of blame for everything that goes wrong in the world — everywhere we look and go we only see perfectionism: think of all the reels and TikTokers of people who supposedly start their morning jog every day at 5am, journal their thoughts and goals at 5.30am, then film themselves making their bed and drinking their caffeinated greens as if it makes them better than you.The ones who think the colour beige is a personality trait, when in fact the lack of colour in their lives is most definitely a red flag. In that sort of environment, it’s hard not to feel like you’re the embodiment of a mistake — that you’re not living life to your “absolute potential” — and that everything you do is just one-step away from sending you off a cliff. In the digital age, everybody else’s lives seem to be perfect, so full of promise, smooth and triumphant.
I think, in the end, that the true challenge of life isn’t about ensuring perfection. It’s not about never making mistakes, getting everything right, or striving for the illusion of flawlessness. It’s about cherishing the present moment — including all the stupid shit you say and do. Without it, life would probably feel too easy and rather boring. Some of the best stories are the ones where we’ve done something stupid.
I think I’ll always get the “ick” when I remember the bad and ugly things I’ve done. But I want to celebrate the mistakes. I want to celebrate real life, where I’m stumbling over my words, experiencing moments of awkwardness, saying the wrong thing and tripping over my gigantic clown feet.
This weekend, I’ve finally moved in with B and as a Type A person, I had planned to do it in an organised weekend move. My parents would be involved, it would be this beautiful send off — the baby bird finally leaving the nest. We would haul everything into the house, make multiple trips, unpack together — my dad would say “where do you want these?” as he points to my multiple plants. A movie-esque moment. It of course has not been like that at all. Over the course of several messy weekends, I’ve hauled suitcases, cat cages, boxes and plants in my tiny car. My dad has been on a business trip for two weeks leaving my mom and I to sort through it. My mom has been battling her own personal drama of “my baby is leaving home” and has been little to no help. I’ve practically become Amazon’s favourite customer as I continue to order all things that are missing — a chest of drawers, a bookcase, bedside tables. Any sort of planning has gone out the window and this move is instead the “This is Fine” meme:
The apartment is a mess, one of my cats is having a hard time settling in, the other has already attacked the sofa with his nails, the bedroom is in shambles with clothes strewn everywhere. But in spite of the chaos of this move, B said to me on Friday that he was excited for me to move in. While I was feeling like a complete fuck-up for not keeping on top of all of it, he was completely unphased — unbridled by concerns about organisation and keeping things tidy. He embraced the mess, knowing it wouldn’t last forever, and got on with it. Life is not without its messes.
To put it poetically, it is an ongoing symphony of imperfections, gracefully demanding our embrace and acceptance.
this was so lovely to read. congrats on the move & i hope you enjoy your new home!
This was liiiiiterally me the other night as well. It was like every awkward moment from my entire life was somehow resurfacing into my brain -- like, going as far back as my eighth grade talent show lol. Glad to know it's a universal experience! xx