Perfectly Imperfect
Perfection. I’ve chased it my whole life—at work, in relationships, even in the way I communicate. But this journey is teaching me to let go. To see how perfection, instead of fueling confidence, often drains it—and along with it, happiness.
Photography has been my teacher in this. When I look through the lens, I don’t want flawless. I want depth. The texture of a stone wall, the uneven brushstroke of graffiti, the shadow that falls “wrong” but tells a story. Perfectly filtered or retouched photos may look polished, but they can also feel plastic, artificial. The little quirks—the blur, the crack, the rawness—make a photo feel authentic. Imperfection is what gives it life.
The same has been true of me. As a shy child, I agonized over words: Will I sound smart? Interesting? Will I keep their attention? Often the worry silenced me. And here in Santiago, I find myself back in that space when speaking Spanish. Even after months with a tutor and real progress, I still hesitate. I understand more than I give myself credit for, but when it’s my turn to speak, stage fright takes over. Afraid of looking silly, sounding stupid—of being imperfect.
Providencia — Santiago, Chile
But here’s the thing: imperfection is also vulnerability. And vulnerability is the birthplace of growth and connection. To speak Spanish badly is to admit I don’t have it all together—but it’s also to open myself up to others, to laugh at myself, to learn. If I never try, I never learn. If I never leap, I never know.
And the truth is—I’ve already taken leaps. I’ve gotten over the hump of sharing my photography publicly, and of starting this candid blog. Both are imperfect. Both are vulnerable. Both are me saying: here I am.
Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” My sassy add-on has always been: “So fuck ’em.” For me, that’s a reminder not to shrink away from imperfection, but to stand in it. To choose authenticity over polish, possibility over fear.
Because what if “imperfect” is just another word for authentic? Just as “unknown” is another word for possibility.
So yes—I’ll keep going out and speaking all the Spanish I can, embarrassing myself along the way. Because in trying, I’m growing. And in growing, I’m alive.
Santiago itself reminds me of this. It’s not perfect—no city is. But it’s vibrant, raw, alive, beautifully imperfect. Kind of like me right now, stumbling along, figuring it out, and saying yes anyway.
This journey is unfolding one step at a time. For more moments—both big and small—follow along on Instagram and see the stories through my lens at Emmy Photography.