There Is No Real Need for Me To Be Perfect

What one realizes when hitting 40: I am not a bridge. Nor a NASA shuttle. Nor a brain surgery. There is no real need for me to be perfect.

People older than me, a question to you:

Why didn’t you tell me earlier to stop stressing about things matching my very narrow idea of “how it should be”?

And instead take maximum pleasure in enjoying what I have while I have it?

In current day and age, the most rebellious thing to say seems to be:

“I have everything I need and I am determined to enjoy it.

Shamelessly.”

Now I don’t know who exactly benefits from people never allowing themselves to take pleasure in being human, but I very much intend to fight that trend.

Too much is at stake.