Should life be perfect?

I used to believe life had to be perfect. Not just good, but flawless.

I wanted every chapter to come at the right time. I wanted my dreams to happen the way I had imagined them, my plans to work, and my future to make sense. Whenever things went differently, I wondered if I was doing something wrong.

But life never asked for my permission.

There were seasons when I felt lost. I would wake up tired, already carrying questions I could not answer. Am I behind? Am I enough? I could be surrounded by people, laughing and talking, while quietly carrying worries no one knew about.

Sometimes, I looked at other people’s lives and wondered why mine felt so unfinished.

Then, slowly, I began to see things differently. The disappointments taught me patience. My mistakes taught me humility. The difficult seasons gave me strength I did not know I needed. Even the moments I wished I could erase became part of my story.

My people have a saying: “Sùúrù ni bàbá ìwà.” Patience is the father of character. I understood its meaning differently when life taught me to wait.

I am still learning. Still growing. Still finding my way.

Today, I don’t want a perfect life. I want a life that is honest, meaningful, and truly mine.

Maybe perfection was never the point.

Maybe the beauty is in learning to embrace the imperfect parts of life while still finding the courage to hope, dream, and begin again.