The Exhaustion of Perfect

There is a sense of pride. To see my flaws, and to work carefully and diligently to eliminate them.

And then I gaze into the sky. The perfect sway of gum leaves overhead, and I know she isn’t trying. The tree. Not a day in her life did she strive for perfection.

Not a day in her life did she feel the need to challenge and defeat intergenerational trauma. And so my heart cries for humanity.

We are exhausted.

So exhausted, working so hard to figure it all out.

I can still see her swaying. Effortless perfection, whispering to me something I cannot quite hear.

But I can feel it, her peace.

It is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

It becomes my rest.