I rounded the corner, with an air of defeat already swarming. The thick fog of doubt made it tough to press on, but I had no choice.

Greatness lie ahead, perfection even. 


And, just as I feared, it wasn’t there. A double and triple-take. I opened the glass and stuck my head into the frigid air for a better view. Still nothing. 


Gravity took a toll on my head, and I moped out.  In hindsight, surely people looked, but if they knew they’d understand. Certainly. 

I had come up empty for the seventh time in two days.  After all, all I wanted was a taste of greatness. 


I searched for logic in my head, for reason, and came up as empty as the aforementioned destination.  


Do I press on? Frustration was setting in, but I couldn’t let it win. Not today. 


We toss around these words like candy. Greatness. Perfection. 


We want to strive for greatness.  We want to go the extra mile. And we try.  But many times, if we’re honest, we live in Settletown. "That’s good enough," becomes our robotic mantra. The few times per year I attempt to run, 99.4% of the time between mile 1 and 2, I’m slapped in the face by an overwhelming “why am I doing this again,” as my pace simultaneously creeps to a walk.

But not today. Not now. Despite being denied 7 times and countless phone calls, I couldn’t settle. All I wanted was a taste of greatness. 

I would find Blue Bell Christmas Cookies ice cream. 

It’s tough to really quantify perfection. What does it look like? 

Philip Matthews