I will never forget the car ride home from that one soccer game. I dominated the entire way, won every duel, drove my team on, and helped us secure an important win. As I walked across the pitch to the parents, several of them expressed to me how well I played.

Then the car ride home happened. Apparently, I didn’t play well at all.

Much of my childhood was like this. I came from a privileged background of being able to participate in any sport I wanted to pursue. But once actually in the pursuit, I was never good enough. I had a higher standard to achieve. That much, to an extent, was true.

But it didn’t help to foster a love of sports. It didn’t help to calm my own perfectionist tendencies. I often tiptoed around the house trying to make sure I didn’t mess up in any way; forever afraid to display my imperfections.

Now into adulthood, I’ve realized that being perfect is not only unattainable, but so much less fun. Perfection is an impossible standard to reach, and so much more stressful than simply trying to do the thing well.

In anything that we do, there is always room for improvement. I would probably look back on any article I’ve ever written and find fault somewhere, not least a change that I’d make today. But here’s the beautiful thing: I would much rather my articles be this way.

I would much rather have imperfections. I would much rather have ways to improve. I love the chase. I love the challenge. If everything’s perfect, there’s no chase. There’s certainly no challenge.

There’s a fine line between becoming better, and aspiring for perfection. One helps you chase a continuous path toward being the type of person you want to be. The other sets you up for failure.

If we’re constantly searching for the perfect thing to say or do, we’re far more likely to approach it from the wrong angle. We’re far more likely to be nervous. We’re far more likely to be afraid of messing up, and therefore more likely to actually mess up.

This is something I’ve come to know well in the world of trail. I love to focus on every step I take when trotting through technical downhills or rocky terrain. The scanning of the surrounding area happens in a matter of milliseconds, and the foot placement becomes instinctual. Over time on the same terrain, it becomes muscle memory, and thinking time can be reserved for other things.

But here’s the ironic catch. As soon as I actually think about what I’m doing and where I’m stepping, that’s when I slip up. It’s when I’m trying to do everything perfectly that I don’t do anything perfectly. When I’m going with the flow and just letting my mind and body come to a harmony of what needs to be done in the moment, I soar through the air and fly to the next section.

But here’s something else. It’s so much more inviting to others when we can own our faults. When we can identify what improvements we’d like to make. When we can express what we’re working toward. Back in grade 10, a near perfect specimen ended our relationship by saying I was too perfect. Supposedly, it was intimidating to her. Stupid me and my perfections.

As much as it sounds like a dumb thing to say in the pursuit of finding someone that checks all of our boxes, Doctor Lila had a point (she’s a doctor now). In the first session I led for my class this semester, I demonstrated scoring a goal in handball by doing a crazy spin shot and showing my absurd personality. The result? I scored. But I also fell flat on my face in celebration (in celebration is generous). For me, this was the most powerful takeaway of the day. I made a point of identifying it immediately. I even described the situation as “something beautiful just happened there.” The beauty lied within the fact that I’d just made everyone in the room feel more comfortable, whether that happened through schadenfreude or not. I told the class – “Now every single athlete will feel totally and completely comfortable falling on their face too. If they see that the coach isn’t afraid to make mistakes, they won’t be afraid to make mistakes either.” That’s the kind of environment we want to create for those that we coach, or anyone we interact with.

To give you another example, I probably broke a world record for the number of times I dropped my pen in class last semester. It was never intentional. But every single time, I didn’t panic. I simply just let someone else pick it up. Sometimes I’d even ask someone to throw me a new one. I wouldn’t catch those ones either. It fully demonstrated to the class every single time that I…could not hold pens. But more importantly, it demonstrated to them that I had zero regard for messing up on things that were literally so unimportant. True, I want to do things well. But why stress about things that don’t matter? I don’t need for anything to be perfect, not least my ability to hold pens. Life would be so much less fun that way.

Personally, I would so much rather be perfectly imperfect. To me, that’s the best form of perfection I could ever aspire to achieve. In doing so, I believe that I’m more likely to allow others to feel comfortable around me; and actually achieve more in my life without the constant, nagging fear of messing up.

Being perfectly imperfect allows room for growth. It allows room for change. It allows for better mindsets toward reaching our goals and desires.

So wherever you go in life, remember this. Perfectly imperfect is perfect.