Up until this point, I have gone through life unscathed. I pray for normalcy, safety–and admittedly, perfection.

From the few posts I have already published–and also given the title of this blog–I am positive you can tell my mind never turns off, craving success and excellence at all times. Great, good for me. I am thoughtful. I am conscientious. I am terrified of disappointment–of judgement. I am the typical overachiever, molded and geared towards success.

How paradoxical is it though, that in continuing such a mindset, I am doomed to fail?

Since I told you the things that I am, let me tell you what I am not (well they are just mere opposites of those qualities, but I will mention them anyways to dramatize). I am not a failure. Sounds egotistical, but that’s what my family and peers will claim. I cannot NOT study for a test, to the extent of willingly cancelling plans to study for Spanish and even reviewing my notes for an open-notes assessment. I am far from careless. And those seemingly admirable traits lead me to my damnation.

Failure is screaming my name. Carelessness is more crucial than ever. Without them, how can I evolve?

My glorification in perfection has led me to stagnancy: the 17-year-old overachiever. And if I don’t widen my perspectives, I will remain just that. At 20, I will be the same toddler who endlessly cried when Mommy said “no” to buying me the newest Barbie doll. At 40, my extensive attempts of establishing the most ideal life–financially and socially–would just be an extension of my efforts of preserving my Honor Roll status in High School.

A+/A= A three-story villa in the heart of the Amalfi Coast and/or Tuscany with two or three charming little rascals and a low-maintenance husband living in our own little world.

A-/B+=A three-story (two-story acceptable) beachfront escapade in the Hamptons and/or Malibu with the same family plan as listed above.

B/B-= New York, I guess.

C and below= Please, nowhere in Idaho (no offense to the lovely Idahoans, I do enjoy and respect the prestige of your potatoes, but the vast farmland and probably my current ignorance as a 17-year-old fails to appreciate its unconventional beauty).

At 80, unlike the usual phenomenon of the elderly regressing to their childhood, I, meanwhile, would have never left.

My childhood wonder and drive would be my later prison.

At 17, going on 18 in a few short weeks, I have to learn to fail. And love it. I have to escape my inhibitions. I will still attempt to aspire for success and maintain such perseverance, yet my perception of failure is needed to be treated as equally rewarding as the taste of victory. A zero equates to a hundred because either way, I will witness development–an alteration in my journey. The lowest of bottoms will drive me 100 mph, as opposed to the comfortable 50 mph in the safety of hollow and temporary victory–steady and lacking adrenaline. Let all the possible limits be pushed, and the monstrous entity of failure alternatively become a companion.

In today’s social media whirlwind of romanticized and curvaceous bodies, to the salivating Tumblr couples kissing next to Abraham Lincoln’s memorial all the way to the pristine turquoise waters of Fiji, the possibility of perfection is seemingly attainable. The rule of thumb has been at least a three-digit number of likes. 98 likes? No friends. Maybe the lighting wasn’t up to par. Somehow, in some arbitrary grading system, you have failed.

The same goes for academics and politics and business and in medicine and in my household and in my uncle’s household and probably your household and your neighbors too. Oh, and everyone and everything else. The deceptive race for superiority continues. We have even come to a point that in determining a higher education’s excellence, we measure its acceptance rate. A 90 percent acceptance rate? I’m too smart for that. A 0.5 percent acceptance? Untouchable, the elite, the only ones designed for a promising future. And Bill Gates, of course.

(There is, by the way, a great article by Frank Bruni that explores this topic http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/30/opinion/college-admissions-shocker.html?_r=0).

Nowadays, contentment is seemingly a thing of the past. Perfection just keeps getting, well, more perfect–or dare I say, perfecter. We have lost the beauty in the ugly, the good in the bad. The Yin Yang sign, a symbol for such balance, I hate to say my friends, remains its relevancy in Western culture because it makes for a good arm tattoo.

No matter what we do, however, failure is here to stay. And whether we accept its repercussions and make it blossom, or let it rot into the blackening soil, is up to us. We, at the end of the day, are the flowers that die or prosper along with it.