Today I’ve felt great, almost normal, whatever that is. My skin rash barely itched at all this afternoon and evening, and the redness continues to fade. My parents are convinced it was all just a reaction to our changed laundry detergent, an argument my dermatologist didn’t buy when I saw him two days ago. Because of this difference of opinion, a chunk of my skin is now missing, on its way to Texas to be (as far as I’m concerned) unnecessarily examined under a microscope. Whatever the results, I suppose the scar on my skin will long serve to remind me that I once had a very miserable two weeks full of itching and burning (where no one wants to itch and burn). What’s more, I’m reminded that just as a problem or illness can show up without warning, it can just as quickly turn around or disappear.

Presto change-o.

In other news, my energy level has been pretty solid and consistent today. I have a lingering cough from the last time I had the flu, but it’s really nothing serious. Granted, I could find more things “wrong” if I wanted to, but–all in all– I feel basically human and can’t tell you how exciting that is. Seriously, y’all, I spent the day doing nothing special–I wrote a blog post for a friend/client, ate with my parents, read a book, taught a dance lesson, and washed Tom Collins (my car) in preparation for going out-of-town tomorrow. No big deal, right? But having spent these lasts several months up and down with my health, I feel like I just climbed Mt. Everest–super proud! I’m actually tickled shitless to just go to work and do everyday things. And whereas I used to take these “average” activities for granted, now I’m grateful for them.

Like, thank you, Lord Jesus, that I was able to tie my shoes today.

The book I read this afternoon, written by The Disney Institute, is called Be Our Guest and specifically deals with the Disney business model and the company’s superior customer service practices. Y’all, it’s fascinating. Walt Disney (the man) apparently used to be concerned with “infinite details.” To this end, doors in Disney hotels have two peepholes–one at an adult’s level, one at a child’s. Additionally, the texture of the streets change from one area of the park to another. Likewise, even the trash cans (which are spaced 27 steps apart because Walt noticed that was how far people would walk before throwing their trash on the ground) are designed to match their surroundings.

All evening I’ve been thinking about this phrase, infinite details. Tonight I taught a dance lesson to a new student. This was only their third lesson, but they’ve already picked up on the fact that I, too, am concerned with infinite details. (The term most my students use is “picky.”) But with this student, my pickiness doesn’t seem to be a problem, since at some point during tonight’s lesson they said, “I’m a bit of a perfectionist too.”

I bring these two things up–being concerned with infinite details and being a perfectionist–because I’m beginning to think there’s a significant difference. In my experience, being a perfectionist is hell. I can’t speak for anyone else, but when I’m in perfectionist mood, I’m not happy unless everything is “just so.” And whenever I demand “perfection” from either myself or another, I never end up satisfied because “perfection” doesn’t exist in the way most of us think about it. In other words, there’s always SOMETHING else to improve or work on. Therefore, striving for perfection is not only frustrating, it’s also technically impossible.

As I see it, the idea of perfection inevitably is linked to inherent value. In other words, we perfectionists believe that if we get all our ducks in a row we’re somehow worth more as a person or somehow more lovable. But having spent the last year basically living everything I previously considered “un-perfect” in life–not having a job, being constantly sick, and, uh, living with my parents–I now believe that my inherent value (or anyone else’s) has absolutely nothing to do with station, situation, or specific skill sets. More and more, I accept and love myself “as is.” So one day I’m sick as a dog and don’t “produce” a thing. The next I’m fit as a fiddle and busy from dawn til dusk. How is one version of me any more perfect than the other?

This is an idea I’d like to hold on to going forward. I’d like to drop the idea of perfection, or at least the idea that it’s something that I don’t already have and need to strive for. Sure, I imagine I’ll always be concerned with infinite details, little ways I can improve my dancing, my writing, and even my health. But if all the details don’t come together, if I don’t get everything “right,” I no longer want to believe that that makes me “wrong.” After all, don’t details come and go? One minute you get a dance move, and the next you don’t. One day you’re sick, and the next you’re not. Suddenly you have a scar on your skin. Is there anything in our lives that can’t turn on a dime, presto change-o? Of course not. So perhaps perfection has little to do with that which changes and everything to do with that which doesn’t. For surely there is a still, small something inside each of us that never changes, something that is timeless and untouchable, something inherently valuable and lovable–something perfect.