Perfect

I have a great opportunity.  On Saturday, I will do my first photo shoot with strangers.  Seven cousins, a portrait that will be a father's day gift for grandpa - the only gift he has asked for the only thing he wants.  It scares the crap out of me.

So badly I want things to go perfect.  I want it so bad that I am afraid of failure.  Terrified of not getting the perfect picture, not being the perfect photographer of letting down these strangers, letting down myself and my dream.

Its been a long time since I did a family portrait.  I did a fall family portrait for myself.  It was a huge fail.  I had trouble with lighting, trouble with focus and depth of field.  The whole experience left me feeling like a fake. 

This holiday season, I declined my sister-in-law.  She asked me to do a family portrait for her and I knew that I didn't have it in me. I couldn't bear to fail again, to be less than perfect, so I declined her request for a family portrait. 

I almost declined this request too.  It means a lot to this family of strangers.  Two of the seven cousins are visiting from out west, this photo shoot isn't a once in a lifetime deal, but certainly once in a long time.  

I've worked out the focusing issues.  I've had the camera sensor and lenses cleaned.  I have practiced with bouncing flash.  I've thought about composition and poses. 

Technically, I can do no more.  Emotionally I need some work.

I am risking and I may fail.  The pictures may not be perfect, I may not be perfect.  I need to accept that.  To embrace imperfection.  These were the feelings of self doubt lead me to the book store to buy a copy of Brene Brown's book The Gifts of Imperfection.  

Driving to the store, P!nk was on the radio.  I was singing along to her song, Less Than Perfect.  I had a light bulb aha! moment.


Back in January I emailed P!nk's you tube video to my fifteen year old daughter. I wanted her to know that no matter what she is perfect to me, and she should believe that of herself.  

I'm on my way to buy a book to help me accept and embrace imperfection, and realize the message that I've been giving my daughter is that she is perfect.

Here I am 37 years old, struggling to let go of perfection, telling my daughter she is perfect.  In twenty years will she be on her way to a book store feeling the same way about perfection as I am today? 

Instead of telling her (and myself) that she has to strive for perfection, maybe the message should be that she is enough.  That she will doubt herself.  Sometimes she will be afraid.  She may fail.  She may be disappointed.  She won't always be perfect, or believe she is perfect.  And that is part of her journey. Any vulnerabilities and fears she has  is what makes her human. 

She is enough.  I am enough.