Judgment is never fun. We put in the long hours. We lay our thoughts and hearts on the line, eager (and at times, less-than-eager) to drink in the responses from family, friends, and the public. But what if we don’t receive overwhelming praise? What if we don’t receive praise at all? What if our skills, concepts, creativity, and even our motives are questioned?

My non-fiction book, Common Stones, that I have been working on for the past several years was just released last week. I am beyond thrilled (and probably equally nervous/exhausted). As each milestone approached, bringing me closer and closer to publishing, my stomach, head, and heart churned in unison. 

~Maybe I should just review that chapter one more time?

~Ugh, that paragraph bugs me; I should probably send it to my editor for one last peek.

~Will the reader be able to picture that scene?  Was I too wordy?

~Did I take the wrong approach in that section? Maybe I should reconsider?

I could go on and on. But what good would it do? Absolutely nothing is perfect in this world. Not a person. Not a product. Nothing. There will always be a mistake to be found, or an opinion that could knock us off our feet. This leads me to the question:

Why beat ourselves up, relentlessly in search of a “perfection” that does not exist?

So we have our manuscripts, each being a work-of-art exposing a vulnerable portion of us for the world to see. We know it will never be perfect, at least not in the eyes of our readers. We take the leap. We put our work, our words, and our ideas in print. No more Delete or Backspace button. No eraser working it’s magic toward a quick re-write. 

At that point, we’ve done it. We crossed the finish line! We poured ourselves into a book/article/poem that we are proud of, that we hope will touch the lives of our readers. We absorb the praise, the feedback, and the less-than-stellar reviews. We strive to improve, but all the while knowing that if we’ve reached one person, we’ve done our job. 

Isn’t that the point? Using our skills and experiences to inform? To inspire? To motivate? The average reader isn’t looking for flawlessness. He/she is looking for a kernel of guidance, entertainment, or a welcomed distraction from everyday life. Perhaps page sixty-seven has a misspelled word. Perhaps chapter eight’s opener could have used a bit more description. It won’t matter—not if one reader walks away with a different perspective. A captivated mind. A drive for change. A hopeful heart. 

That one person’s life is worth it. And achieving that by sharing your voice—that’s perfection.      

“There are two kinds of perfect: The one you can never achieve, and the other,

by just being yourself.” 

―Lauren King