It is a late autumnal afternoon and I am walking with an attractive man. We arrive at the canal. I stop at a railing and gush, “I love it!”
I continue: “I know I can get very enthusiastic but there’s something about the water and nature and this time of year and the red-brick buildings. I love beautiful things.”
He faces me. The railing is between us. He states: “Nothing is perfect, Sharon.” I look at him and answer: “I didn’t say perfect, I said beautiful.” He leans in to kiss me.
A moment later, I move in to kiss him. He would need to inch a little more forward. He doesn’t. He turns and keeps walking.
I awaken. It is very early and the wind is howling outside. I fumble for a pen and paper. I feel this dream contains an important message. Something that’s come up a few times recently about how I still think I have to be perfect in order to be accepted and loved. And more importantly, in order to accept and love myself. I’ve also just realised that I place the same ridiculously high standards on any potential partners and on the relationship we may have.
Thankfully, the last couple of times I’ve become aware of this, I’ve recognised that there is beauty in imperfection. There’s honesty, truth and authenticity. There’s humanity and openness and connection.
Maybe next time, I’ll have that kiss.