I have a love-hate relationship with the word “perfect.” The first time I heard it was in preschool, still only three. I presented a colorful mess of Crayola-marker scribbles to my teacher, and her eyes lit up with admiration as she bent down and lovingly whispered, “Oh, that is just perfect, Supriya!” Joy rippled through my small frame as I welled with pride. I felt as if I were a skilled artist who had just presented a masterpiece. Since then, the word “perfect” has evolved to hold numerous definitions, and evokes a range of emotions in my mind. This word can refer to the perfect man, the pluperfect tense in grammar, a perfect square in math or someone’s attempt to perfect his or her writing. The very versatility of this word defines it. The definition of “perfect,” like beauty, is what its beholder believes it to be. Last year, as I excitedly packed my bags to embark on my Andover journey, I never foresaw that my PA experience would tease the fragile notion of “perfection” that I had created in my mind. As a young Junior, I was inundated by the deluge of emotions associated with the word “perfect” – whether that be the pride of my first 6 on an English essay, the admiration for the track star who lived across the hall or the pangs of envy piqued by the girl who seemingly had it all. The common adage, “strive for excellence rather than perfection,” was suddenly challenged as I convinced myself that at Andover, I could settle for nothing short of perfection, lest I risk falling through the cracks. However, as a Lower ready to begin a cold winter term at Andover, I now have a somewhat different outlook on “perfect.” Perhaps it was the combination of sleepless nights and stressed phone calls home that prompted a shift in my mentality. Or maybe it was the realization that the desire to reach a state of so-called perfection at the cost of compromising the spontaneity and joy of life was terrifying and definitely not worth it. As I braced myself to face the chilling winds of winter term at Andover, these thoughts gnawed away at my relaxed, rusty brain, the result of three weeks of blissful vacation. Though I do not believe in New Year’s resolutions, I found myself silently promising to change my outlook on perfection before I returned to campus. I wondered: could perfection be viewed not as a comparison but rather as motivation? Consequently, striving for perfection does not refer to nailing that 6.0 average, excelling at multiple varsity sports or effortlessly completing flawless college applications but rather to the personal mission of constant self-improvement. I now see perfection as an inspirational mantra that propels me to work hard in my classes, be the best friend, daughter and sister I can, immerse myself completely in everything Andover has to offer and remember to give back to my community. Perfection is like fuel for me; I am a car driving on the road of the unattainable, and perfection leads me to my destination, to be the best I can. Envy may be the most natural response when thinking about perfection, but a myriad of emotions, including surprise, disappointment and relief, are also a part of the package. It’s happened to everyone. One day you see that seemingly perfect person strolling down the path, and the next day you come to find out that Senior only does everything to put it on a college application, or that Upper is a drug addict or that that fellow Lower is a compulsive plagiarist. These discoveries only further convince me to reassess my definition of the word. The emotional rollercoaster that accompanies my current notion of perfection is too much to handle. Even though I no longer hear the word “perfect” every time I doodle, when my history teacher writes, “perfect” at the top of my fifth essay-draft, I am once again a smiling preschooler, bursting with pride at my accomplishment. “Perfect” is a secret that we all crave to know, a secret that my Andover experience thus far has helped me to unveil. Supriya Jain is a two-year Lower from Foxboro, MA.
