The more I stopped trying to be perfect, the more I discovered how perfect I already am. I’m slowly learning how to live my life however the hell I want to. I’m starting to focus less on being perfect and more on being myself. I’m slowly starting to understand how life, love, heartbreak, rejection, family, and work will all fit together like a puzzle and make perfect sense someday.

To be completely honest, I’ll probably never have all my ducks in a row. And I’ll be the first to admit that most of the time I have absolutely no idea what the hell I’m doing in life.

And I’m learning that’s okay, as long as I try my very best every single day.

I’ll always be the girl always wearing two completely different colored socks. And no, I’m not tired, I just forgot to brush my hair this morning. Thanks for noticing. My laundry is scattered all across my bedroom floor and and I’m more than likely using dry shampoo for the third day in a row. I still haven’t found my prince charming. And to be completely honest, some days I’m convinced he’s lost somewhere out there in the world and I’m just doomed. And ineptly I have kissed one too many frogs on my quest to find him.

I’m slowly learning to embrace it.

I’m learning how simply being yourself is the bravest thing you’ll ever do in life. You threaten the rest of the world because you dare to unapologetically be yourself – and that alone, terrifies people. I’m slowly learning that the key to happiness is to see the beauty in the the things that are odd and imperfect. They are becoming so much more interesting to me. I’m slowly learning that no matter how hard I attempt to find perfection, perfection will never be found. And that it’s okay to make mistakes. Because if you were perfect all the time, you would never have the opportunity to grow. You would never have the chance to be better than you were yesterday. Stuck in a cycle, endlessly running on a constant hamster wheel. I’m slowly learning to accept that I am imperfect. And that it’s okay to have flaws. And instead of hating myself for the unrealistic standards I didn’t reach, I can smile through the uncertainty, pick myself back up, and try again.

I’m realizing that being perfect would actually be pretty boring. My quirks and differences make me interesting. They make me unique. And ultimately, they make me, me.

I’m finally learning to embrace myself for the glorious mess that I am. And I’m seeing the beauty in being perfectly imperfect.