The process of perfection

Hey honeys and hustlers,

Today, I’m bringing you some words from Franceska, the writer behind the journey to perfection newsletter. This article feels like one of the best introductory articles to a newsletter I’ve ever read. Or maybe I’m just at a point in my life where I can relate. I’m utterly exhausted and have been having trouble focusing on deep work lately (like writing, editing videos, and all creative work, really). I haven’t run out of things to write about, not by a long shot, but I’m running low on energy to write. I hope to get back to my regular publishing schedule soon, but in the meantime, enjoy these words by Franceska. If you’re looking to start a newsletter soon, and I know many of you are, I hope this is a source of inspiration.

P.S. Thanks to all the folks who joined the Creator Database last month! One of you is featured below. If you’d like to be featured in a future article, it’s free to join!

/pərˈfekSH(ə)n/

The condition, state, or quality of being free—or as free as possible—from all flaws is truly the bane of my existence. Maybe that’s a little dramatic, so instead, let’s just say that, like many of us, I have a complicated relationship with perfection.

Perfection often feels like a mirage—a goal we chase our whole lives but never actually reach. If we’re lucky, we see it every so often in our lifetime. Literally once in a blue moon. And yet, this unrequited pursuit leaves so many of us disillusioned, stressed, anxious, and drowning in imposter syndrome. If we know this, then why do we still chase perfection? Who even set this standard?

In my household, that standard was set by my parents.

As the child of Haitian immigrants, failure was not an option. Since “no one is perfect” was an accepted truth, mistakes were allowed—but only in moderation. Too many mistakes threatened their vision of success, their version of perfection. Naturally, I rebelled. I rejected everything a perfect Haitian daughter was expected to be. Instead, I embraced alternative things like tattoos, skateboarding, gauged ears, Odd Future, and, to my parents’ horror, chose a creative path instead of becoming a pediatrician. I rejected this notion of perfection so deeply that I even opted out of my first name and rebranded myself with a nickname instead.

But despite my rebellion, something in me still craved perfection.

My parents’ expectations were one thing. The media’s illusions of perfection were another. But beyond all that, I’m left wondering—where did this notion of perfection even come from?

Matthew 5:48 (for my Bible lovers out there) says, “Be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect.” Which, quite frankly, tells me absolutely nothing. If anything, it adds more pressure. Forget my measly human struggle with perfection—now I’m supposed to be perfect as God is perfect? How is that even possible? What does that even mean? And most importantly—how does one practically achieve perfection?

/ˈpräˌses/

The best answer I could come up with was the tired-ass saying, “Practice makes perfect.” That overused little phrase had stitched itself into my brain, offering nothing useful when it first popped into my head. It’s something people say when encouraging someone to master a skill. But after a while, I started to wonder—what if this idea extends beyond skills? What if practice makes perfect applies to mastering oneself? Was it actually that simple?

Thinking back to the concept of "being perfect like God," to be in the presence of something so grand, according to the bible, there's a need for renewal and purification, solidifying the essential need for process, bringing me to my next question. What if we've been viewing and engaging with the idea of perfection incorrectly? 

Personally, I can do without the process.

I find practice or processes mundane, tedious, and sometimes pointless. The image that best describes this annoyance is the movie Karate Kid (all versions are welcomed, but the Hillary Swank one is arguably the best and most underrated). The main characters all individually go through a process of training, doing the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and (exactly. It's just as annoying to watch) over again until they get all the training and practice they need, according to some sensei with all the answers, and then BOOM! They're prepared. Which is cute and all, but this ain't Karate Kid, and I don't have a Mr. Miyagi, time, or the patience, especially with life moving as fast as it does.

Like many of us, I've adopted an expectation of results that are as quick and convenient as possible, but things worth having are never that easy, and time does not bend to meet my expectations.

In high school, I was on the soccer team, and we would have to run like no one's business. I hated every minute of it and honestly don’t even know how I ended up on that team, but what always tripped me out was seeing how much we outran the other teams in our games. All that mundane running did have a purpose, even if it was to be a more equipped team or contribute to conditioning my phatty. It's not lost on me that there's value in the process of practice, but it doesn't mean I like it or even want to participate. 

These experiences—and many like them—suggested that process is essential for growth and transformation, bridging intention and actualization. They reinforced that perfection is not a fixed state but the intentional embrace of the steps needed to reach a goal.

I've chosen to test this theory by adopting perfection as a practice—not as an illusion of flawlessness, but as a committed journey toward true excellence.

/ˈpraktəs/

Two recent class sessions deeply challenged me, reinforcing why I’m here.

The first was with Manny Vega, a Nuyorican painter. We expected a discussion on the practice of Candomblé, but instead, he was divinely sent to remind us of the power of walking in practice. Manny told us that whatever we want to do, we have to do it. “You can’t just say you love someone. You gotta be love. You gotta embody it. You gotta practice it.”

Simple. Direct. But the weight of his conviction made it feel like a revelation. Manny spoke with an inner knowing—his words weren’t theoretical; they were lived. As I closed my laptop after that session, his message stayed with me. I found myself crying, overwhelmed, as if wrapped in a loving embrace from God, encouraging me to become. Manny doesn’t run from his path—he embraces it. He walks in it daily.

The second session was with the great Cornel West, a man who needs no introduction but was most recently a presidential candidate. Dr. West told us, “Find your voice or be an echo,” and “You have to live in the questions.”

That last phrase—living in the question—was another gentle nudge. I often find myself asking, What would life look like if…? I owe it to myself to lean into those questions, to explore the possibilities rather than just entertain them. I owe myself the chance to find my voice in a world that so often wants to speak for me. I owe it to myself to rest in God’s grace, knowing that becoming is a process of being perfected.

This Substack is an account of my journey in practice.

Practicing living in the questions.

Practicing deconstructing.

Practicing mastering self.

Practicing perfection.

There is a rhythm, a necessary repetition to process—just like any daily or spiritual practice. But more than a routine, practice is a lifelong commitment. A way of being. It is the continuous act of becoming, of leaning into growth, of embracing both the questions and the lessons they bring. With each step, each misstep, and each moment of clarity, I am learning that practice isn’t about reaching perfection—it’s about showing up, again and again, fully present in the becoming. 

Welcome to the journey to perfection. I’m happy you’ve arrived. 💚