The water keeps dripping incessantly. Drop by drop it hollows out the stone. Once cold and brute, it is now cold and smooth, bent to the point of having no will of its own.

It was never enough, it never could be. Too this, too that, not enough of this, but always below standard. Only when lowering expectations can the mundane seem normal, the normal seem good. But lowering standards doesn’t seem like the right thing to do, does it?! One should have lofty goals, distinguished ideals. Why settle for good if you can have the best? But what if even the best is not good enough?

Nothing can ever satisfy this hunger for the irreproachable, the unimprovable because already perfect. Queue the delusions, the belief in something non-existent to find a rationale for this unhealthy behavior.

The perfectionist doesn’t actually want perfection as that would take away his core ambition. Everything his life revolves around could vanish in an instant if the concept of perfection in his mind would turn into palpable perfection in this world. A treadmill with a thousand hurdles… and every hurdle overcome requires a new one being put up by our mind. The end can never come, the goal can never be achieved. For in perfection does not lie ultimate bliss but ultimate disappointment. The achievement of everything worthwhile means the annihilation of everything worthwhile.

To keep some meaning set aside for this life, one can thus only either discard perfectionism as a whole or nurse it without ever letting it reach its inevitable conclusion by deceiving oneself and holding oneself to ever higher standards.

However porous a stone may be, it never takes too long for it to dry… but what the water has washed away, the sun cannot bring back.

When perfection is the aspiration, reality is hell. Were perfection to be achieved, reality’d be pointless.

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