I definitely have an odd relationship with perfection. I jut back and forth between seeing it everywhere and seeing it nowhere. Between not caring about having it and accepting nothing less. Very jarring. It seems to stem from the fact that I still see Mom and Dad and probably my siblings, too, as the perfect people that no one is.
I never outgrew the idea that love is always about feeling unconditionally happy and nurtured. I cannot see the good for the good and the bad for the bad.

Am I just a naive bastard? A naive boy? As I’ve noted, I remember feeling unconditional love in our household, as well as other relatives’ households. I keep my eye open to that sentiment to this day. Is it a feeling which is not appropriate for equal relationships? Equal partnerships? Am I taking it a bit too far?

So I am perpetually comparing this to that. But I don’t realize what I am doing. So there is no way to address it. But it undermines everything. And I mean everything. Either directly or by means of avoidance.

If I do something other than play the cello, I am questioning the wisdom of one of my parents. Unbelievable. So not only do I love them unconditionally, but I also fear them unconditionally. There is the disturbing aspect to this.

originally published on 6/24/08