Imperfection

I learned about living with my own imperfections this week.

It started with some silly leftover drama on Friday, which I briefly touched on earlier, which triggered my examining my shortcomings and imperfections. Then I realized something. I felt like I had to apologize for not being perfect, for being who I am and was, and for someone not being able to handle that. Again, I was feeling forced to be/do something I’m not/don’t want to do.

Imperfection is kind of the theme of the 48 Hour Film Project. I mean, really, how perfect can you get a film in 48 hours? Okay, a handful of these filmmakers can – Genesis Films in particular, has the market cornered – but most of us struggle to just get it shot and cut. I did well until the gremlins attacked on Sunday. But the real struggle was my own inner struggle as the big hand on the clock moved ever faster towards 7:30. The phone call from Chairman at 7:00 was actually quite amusing and put some things in perspective for me. I set the bar very high for myself. Last year, I was the second filmmaker in, arriving around 4:15. When Chairman called at 7:00 to say he was at the drop off spot – Cat and the Fiddle on Sunset – and his expectant voice saying, “You’re on your way, right?” I actually laughed. Miss Perfect might actually miss the deadline, I thought. Not a big deal, the film will still screen but we can’t qualify for awards. I heard the stunned amazement in his voice when I said, “Nope, still at home, trying to finish.” “Really?” I had a moment of, oh, shit, I’ve disappointed him because I’m not perfect and I might not make the deadline and he’ll hate me and be upset and never talk to me again and never work with me again because of this and…

Then I realized, I’m not perfect. And he, of all people, knows this. And he wasn’t pressuring me to be perfect, I was doing that to myself. And I thought, I could not turn this in on time because it might not be perfect. If I’m late, I can make it perfect. But then, ironically, the perfectionist in me went, hey, it’s a 48 hour film. This is where we are after 48 hours. Turn the sucker in as is, then fix it later. Even as I sat in the car, trying to push a better copy out of my laptop and as Beth did the relay with Chairman with the first tape, I still thought, it’s not perfect. People are going to see something I did that’s not perfect. I was sick to my stomach, trying to figure out how to make it perfect and make the deadline, which was impossible. Finally, I just tried to let it go.

The imperfections were very large on the big screen Wednesday night. That’s all I saw/heard – those bloody audio beeps where music and dialog should have been. Each beep made me more nauseous, more angry with myself. But there was nothing I could do. It was already up there. And Peter Fox, the organizer of the whole event, had much praise for the project, despite its technical issues. And the filmmakers have all been there themselves and are very forgiving, which made it a little easier. And my amazing cast and crew couldn’t have been more supportive.

Another personal event, which I will not get into here, also forced me to look at myself and my expectations and meeting others’ expectations. Lately, I feel that I am being pressured by several situations to apologize when there is nothing to apologize for. To say I’m sorry for being who I am and sticking my what I feel and think. Situations that make me question myself and my feelings and my own boundaries. Situations that seem determined to point out my flaws and my weaknesses and make me grovel and beg for forgiveness for being human, for having feelings, for expressing those feelings, and for just being who I am.

And I’ve come to the conclusion today that I will no longer apologize for being imperfect. I will no longer allow anyone to make me feel less than because they have their own issues and their own problems and are just trying to rid themselves of their baggage by dumping it on my cart. Take your own baggage, please, my cart is full enough. Get your own valet to help you, I can’t do it any more.

I’m tired of trying to compensate for perceived slights, begging for love and affection from those who I think I want it from. Hey, OOMA, fuck you. How’s that? Okay, that was rash and I take it back. But I’m a bit tired of that, too. Questioning whether he’s not making a move because of something I am not, I should be, I could be. Where I am lacking that keeps him away? Because, of course, it has to be me, not him. My imperfections, not his, are what is keeping us apart.

Or maybe I’m just tired and overanalyzing things. I just know that every time I say I’m sorry for something I’m not sorry for, every time I give up something to make someone happy, when I try to bend myself to match someone’s perception of me, I end up broken and numb and empty. And I’ve enjoyed feeling full and whole and having all my nerve endings tingling. Don’t make me go back to the other stuff. I’ve fought too hard to get here. Take me, just as I am, imperfect, improbable, occasionally irrational, or get out. Those are your choices. My turn to set the boundaries and the rules, as imperfect as they may be.