There is no chance, however infinitesimally remote, that I will ever be perfect in any way. Olympic scores of 10 notwithstanding, I suspect that quantifiable perfection is beyond human reach altogether. My reach, however, I can guarantee unequivocally will remain ever short of the absolute.
And I make no apologies for it. Argue the possibility for human outliers if you will, I am no such exemplar.
This doesn’t excuse a perpetual state of lying down on the job. Corpses are already better at that task than we are while still alive, no matter how expertly lazy. And you know that I do speak as a highly skilled practitioner of that art. Not being a corpse, just yet, thank you. Laziness.
I also know, however, that from play, serendipity, accident, and even out of the occasional non-life-threatening disaster can come growth and inspiration. We improve more by learning from our mistakes than from thinking, “Nailed it!” and settling comfortably into what we hope is an easy formula for repeating the success. This, however counterintuitive it may seem, gives me hope.
Perhaps as I go bouncing through life in my random, attention-deficit-slanted, cheerily inefficient way, I may well stumble upon my better self, eventually. Don’t look for me in the Hall of Fame, let alone among the stars. But if my fine intentions and a healthy dose of good fortune should, like mythic planets, align at some heroically splendid place and time, you can certainly find me in the shining company of the wonderfully, luckily contented.