My brother and I are gearing up for our first marathon. Before our training plans started, we created a shared playlist so that we could stay motivated and feel like we were training together.

Last night, he texted me about a song he really liked but didn’t think it was quite the right tempo for the playlist. So I listened to it. He was right. It wasn’t quite right for the playlist and honestly not really my “style,” but I can’t stop the lyrics from running through my head.

It starts with a monk talking about laying bricks:

Laying bricks is not easy
You think all you have to do is put some water down, put a brick on top, and make it level.
But when you put the water down,
You put the brick on top,
There's always one end that is higher than the others.

He then goes on talk about how he tries to fix this pesky minor problem:

So you have to tap that end down,
That end goes down, another end goes up
So you have to tap THAT end down,
Then it moves out of line.
Then you've got to tap it into line again.
Then the first end goes up.
It takes forever to get that brick straight.

Already I’m sucked in. How often throughout our days are we constantly adjusting and rearranging to only have created a new, minor issue? We’ve turned our backs so our new view looks perfect and straight. Smiling, we go to pat ourselves on our back, only to see a disaster has occurred in our neglect.

But he has a solution:

But one thing which I have, which all monks have,
Is patience.
Doesn't matter how long it takes, I'm gonna make sure,
Every brick is perfect.
So - that's what I did.
Every brick - I made sure - if it wasn't right,
I'd take it off and start again.

So now we know that this is not something that can be rushed. We edit. We edit again. We send it to someone else and they make their edits. We sleep on it and fix it again in the morning. Days, weeks, months pass as we correct and redline and move just that one element a pixel to the left. Our file is now named “final_rev_rev2_finalrev_FINAL_FINALE_NOREALLYFINALTHISTIME.” (Where my design people at?)

When I finished my first brick wall,
I looked at it,
And I was so disappointed.
I was so shocked.
I was so distressed.
I missed 2 bricks.

The finished product comes back, and we missed a damn period. We spelled the name wrong. How did this happen? We were so careful. We went over it again and again, but it was there the whole time. IN. EVERY. DAMN. VERSION.

All the other ones were nice and level.
But 2 bricks with this awful angle. They spoiled the whole wall.
I tried to take them out. But the cement was just so hard.
They would not come out.

No matter how many times I replay my bad break, no matter how many times I rub the errant letters of the misspelled name, they’re still there. A mar on what could have been something great!

Because I saw the two bad bricks and my mistakes.
When visitors came, I always managed to take them somewhere else.
So they wouldn't see my mistakes.

It doesn’t matter that I had 23 good breaks that day or a whole magazine of beautifully written sentences. Those 2 stupid bricks! A pen stain on a white shirt. A stutter in a speech. My failures frozen for all to see and judge and mock. A daily reminder of how I’m just not good enough — how I’m not perfect.

But one day, a visitor came,
I was with them, they saw that wall and what they said was:
"That's a beautiful wall."
And I said to them: "Are you crazy,
are you blind? Have you left your glasses in the car?
Can't you see the 2 bad bricks?"

There’s no need for you to be kind. I know it’s garbage. Here. Let me zoom in. Let me pause the audio. I’ll show you how it should have been, could have been if I would have simply been better.

And they said: "Yes, I can see the two bad bricks.
But, I can also see the 998 good bricks, as well."

…This. This right here.

Too often lately, I’ve found myself obsessing over the 2 bad bricks. It didn’t matter how much praise I received, or how many times someone said I was doing a great job. All I heard were the few instances of criticism screaming in my mind. The “I’m not crazy about that idea” or “it should sound this way.” Repeating day and night so loudly I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t concentrate. I was stuck, looping endlessly and spiraling downward. The words evolved into a cruel chant:

Not crazy about that idea. Not crazy about that idea. Not crazy about that idea. Not crazy about that idea.

I obsessed about how my running pace is :15 slower than it was in Las Vegas. I obsessed about how I’ve never had to save so many revision levels of my work. I obsessed about how I didn’t say over the airwaves what I had practiced and rehearsed 10 minutes prior.

All I wanted was a perfect wall. But the thing is, no matter how much we obsess, we edit, we throw away and start again, those 2 bricks are still there. We always get better but those 2 bricks will be there some way or the other. So I stood back and looked at the wall.

I reminded myself that I’m running farther than I ever thought possible. That I’m healthier at 32 than I was at 22. I reminded myself of all the big, good ideas I’ve had. I listened to my first aircheck again. I looked at my college portfolio.

I’m nowhere near perfect, and I never will be. None of us will. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t keep striving to be the best version of ourselves. We should always be patiently laying our bricks, tapping the one end first, and then the other.

Those 2 bricks are important. They shape what we’re destined to become. They remind us that there’s always room for improvement. They push us to try harder and strive higher. But while you’re learning from the 2 bricks, just don’t forget the 998 good bricks.