The cult of perfect, deep down, is just fear. We want human connection, but we're psychotically afraid of rejection, so our head tells us to stay home until we're good enough. But when you get older, you learn the shittiest, most ironic life lesson: 'perfection' is not a guarantee for happiness. This was never clearer to me than back when I read the shocking news that Sandra Bullock's husband cheated on her. What?! How? Sandy is America's sweetheart. She's gorgeous, down to earth, legitimately funny, and genuinely talented. Her husband looked like some guy you'd see at the hot dog stand outside of Costco. And yet HE cheated on HER??? This was when my stranglehold on the dream of perfection began to loosen. So I'm supposed to suffer and sacrifice and put someone else's demands of me before my own happiness and I'm STILL going to get my heart broken? What the fuck?