Perfectly Imperfect

If brains are like the characters in the movie Inside Out, then my control panel is immaculate. There are no coffee spills on the dashboard. There is nothing sticky is prohibiting buttons from being pressed. There certainly isn't a weird odor coming from the trash can underneath. All the switches are labelled beautifully and clearly. There is also soft jazz music playing in the background. Or an Ed Sheeran CD that was borrowed from the library.  The point is that I have been wired with a sense, or duty even, of perfection. I would get teased for this trait, though it was mostly in good humor and not meant to be an insult but the negative connotation associated with perfection lead to me to believe that this was not an attribute, but a character flaw. I started to see myself as rigid, a rule follower, and had specific standards. I lived in a world of black and white and then they would blend together, I wouldn't have a plan which left me panicked. My way was the right way and pr...