The Gift of Imperfection

Mary McCorvey
Jan 7
3 min read

Originally published on Mary McCorvey's Substack.

On a quiet Saturday, I drove my daughter to a botanical garden with a borrowed camera and a stack of index cards. We were chasing orchids. She needed photographs for a scholarship application; I needed them to be flawless. In my head, the stakes were high. In my daughter’s heart, it was an adventure.

We knelt under dripping trees and waited for a butterfly to land. The shot wasn’t perfect. The background was blurred. Angela grinned anyway. I felt something soften. Maybe the goal wasn’t a pristine portfolio. Maybe it was the laughter we shared on the muddy path or the way she reached for my hand when the rain started.

By the time we drove home, our shoes were soaked and our cheeks were sore from smiling. The scholarship didn’t come, but the photographs hung in our hallway for years. Each one was a reminder: the richest experiences are rarely the most polished. They are the most present.

The core of it

Chapter 7 of Experience Over Expectation tells the story of my long affair with perfectionism and the slow, tender breakup that followed. Growing up in Sarasota, I learned early that if I performed perfectly—straight A’s, polished shoes, a bed so tight you could bounce a quarter—I might avoid judgment and shame. Gold stars and crisp uniforms were my armor. The belief was simple: control everything and you’ll be safe.

That belief followed me into adulthood. Drill teams, military service, and executive roles rewarded my meticulous nature. Colleagues called me “dedicated to excellence.” Inside, my jaw was clenched and my heart was lonely. Perfectionism promised safety but delivered isolation. My family felt shut out when I insisted on one more draft, one more edit. My teams felt anxious under standards that kept moving.

The turning point came not as a single epiphany, but through small acts of presence. Afternoons with Angela’s orchids. A play where the lead actor botched a line and the audience leaned forward in confusion—and delight. Those moments taught me that authenticity creates deeper connection and more meaningful experiences than flawless performance ever could.

Learning to choose presence over perfection was (and is) a practice. It looks like asking myself, “Am I trying to manage my anxiety by controlling every outcome?” It sounds like inviting others into the creative process instead of taking over. It feels like loosening my grip when connection, creativity, or learning needs room to breathe. Excellence still matters to me, but now it is a collaborative pursuit rather than a solo performance.

Eheye’s take (our resident analyst)

These moments offer something crucial: Authentic engagement creates deeper connection and more meaningful experiences than flawless performance ever could.

A gentle prompt for you

Think of a time when striving for perfect left you feeling lonely. What was the cost of that pursuit?
Where could you let go of control this week to make space for someone else’s contribution?
If you treated today as a conversation instead of a performance, how might it change your interactions?

How I’m holding this now

At home, I pay attention to what my loved ones are sharing rather than how I can improve their process. In prayer, I ask for the courage to show up as I am, not as I think I should be. Trusting that presence will carry me farther than perfection ever did is a daily surrender—and a daily relief.

A small invitation

If this reflection resonates, the book goes even deeper. Get your copy of Experience Over Expectation and join me in choosing presence over performance. Get Yours on Amazon.