TAMED PERFECTION

My perfectionism touches my music as well. That is one of the deductions I had about myself after my last self-search. I love music in a practical way. Realise that’s different from just loving music like some of you do. I’ll tell you why you love music. You love music typically just the way it is because it’s in the human nature to be slaves of rhythm, symphony and melody. That’s different from loving music in a practical way. I have diverse musical gifts. A girl friend of mine loves telling me how girls love mjangos who sing or dance. I wish I could dance too. But I only know too well that the Lord cannot give us everything lest we be proud, stumble and then fall. That answers all my peers who have been inviting me to the club or any other place that has shaking what mama gave in the programme – as to why I couldn’t tag along with them. I have something against public speculation and ridicule. So I stick to my lane no.
I have music in my genes. As well as I have writing. When I am not writing or say, shouting to the ears of your eyes here, I am probably playing a beat or two on my laps in a boring class. Like the afternoon class I had today. I am not a hater of education, but I must confess I didn’t know it could get that boring. I couldn’t help but switch off during today’s philosophy class. My earphones were a hand reach away. You know what I’d have done if it we’re not for my enthusiasm for front seats in lecture rooms.
In times past I couldn’t hold back my perfectionism. I said things the way they were to those people who fell short of whatever is expected of them especially by me. I didn’t realise that human beings love to have things sugar-coated. Like you should tell them they look beautiful while in your eyes as the beholder, they actually aren’t. I’d call testicles, testicles without feeling pricked that I should just have called them balls. Oh yes I had the balls to do that. Also with the mentality that the truth is what helps us become better versions of ourselves. You agree right? But you only agree upto where you will be in a situation you really need a compliment to pamper you.
It took a battalion of friends who had the guts to tell me that my perfectionism is what feeds my ego to a giant beast that slowly scares people away. A beast that still haunts them in the middle of the night making them chew the edges of their blankets. A beast that is ghosting, that creeps into their heads and tampers with their esteem when they need it most. It took some time to accept that that was true about myself. People who set landmines may never know how many lives their trap took away. They live in oblivion never knowing how much blood is accounted to them. So I was guilty, never knowing how many psychological deaths I caused.
So I have learned to slit my perfectionism and cut people some slack. It’s not easy though. It feels like an arrow going through my neck whenever my definition of perfection is not everyone else’s. It’s however neutralised by the possibility of the existence of my own speck in my eye. I grew up asking mama why people do things in certain ways sometimes unimaginable. She kept on reminding me that people are just different. It is only after the full comprehension of how different other people are from us that we will have harmony within ourselves about them. You learn to let people be and let people go. In case you don’t know by the way, one thing that will gauge how much you love yourself is how easily you let go of things.
In the journey through taming my perfectionism, I realised that at times cutting people some slack is costly. The expense that under-delivery comes with, humanely speaking is non-negligible. It was then that I learnt that what this means: “If you want something done perfectly, do it yourself.” I apply that sometimes to save myself from frustration. Thank God for humility that through it I got to know at the nick of time that I can never do everything by myself however. That true fulfilment in life comes when you empower others and give them space to crumble their way up. This definitely means that you still need to let mjangos around you do their thing. If you’re humble enough, you will come to know that what they really need is just to be taught.
Perfectionism as some may think, is not the worldwide standard of what’s perfect. Just the way what you consider to be beautiful is highly likely not to be what another considers as beautiful, perfectionism is the definition of an individual. We are all perfect, but in our own very different ways.
Oh, about music. I love perfect composures. Well, to me, perfect composure is comprised of connective lyrics that speaks directly to the soul. Tuned into a seamless melody sang by god designed vocals like natural springs that no one can ever dispute their existence.  And escorted through by original instruments.  A grand piano in collaboration with the violin wins my heart immediately. The drum sets, oh good Lord! Every kick backed up with a pluck of a string on the base guitar and every roll justified by the lead guitar. Bring in the brass if and only if there is an assurance of some icing. If not, let only the saxophone ride along. I don’t know if it’s just me, but the saxophone does something to the soul. That, is my kind of music. My perfect version of music. You have to be having your own, aye! If it’s the kind of music that has the singer repeat the same words over and over up to the tail of the song, then just hip and hop all the way. We won’t trouble you.