It's hard to be perfect, It really is. I keep learning things

“It’s hard to be perfect, it really is. I keep learning things after I’ve already bungled it.” Thus spoke Tina Weymouth, the renowned musician and founding member of Talking Heads and Tom Tom Club—a woman who shaped the rhythms of modern sound with humility and truth. In these words, she reveals a wisdom deeper than melody: that perfection is not the fruit of mastery, but the blossom of failure and learning intertwined. It is the confession of one who has walked the road of creation and discovered that the path to excellence is paved not with flawlessness, but with the courage to stumble and rise again.

For the ancients, the idea of perfection was not a destination, but a horizon—a light toward which the traveler journeys, though he knows he shall never reach it. Weymouth, in her honesty, speaks in that same spirit. She does not lament her bungling, but embraces it as the teacher it truly is. Each mistake, she says, brings new understanding; each failure carries a seed of insight. This is the secret of all growth: that the soul ripens through its errors. A person who never errs never learns, and the one who hides from imperfection hides also from wisdom.

From the earliest times, this truth has been known to those who labor with their hands and hearts. Consider the tale of Thomas Edison, the great inventor who, when asked about his countless failures, replied, “I have not failed. I’ve just found ten thousand ways that won’t work.” He, like Weymouth, understood that the bungling was not the end of the journey, but the process by which genius reveals itself. For the hand that crafts must err, the voice that sings must falter, and the mind that creates must wander before it finds its way. So too in life: we learn not from unbroken success, but from the cracks that let the light of knowledge shine through.

And yet, the longing for perfection is woven deeply into the human heart. We seek it in our art, our work, our love, and even our own image. We wish to be flawless, to never stumble, to be admired for our unerring grace. But perfection, as Weymouth reminds us, is a mirage—beautiful, distant, and forever shifting. Those who chase it too fiercely often grow weary, haunted by self-doubt. The wise learn to see perfection not as the absence of mistakes, but as the harmony between effort and humility. For it is better to fall with honesty than to stand in the pretense of faultlessness.

Let us look also to Leonardo da Vinci, who spent years painting and repainting, revising and refining, never declaring his works complete. Even his Mona Lisa, that eternal portrait of mystery, was found upon his deathbed still being touched with new layers of color. Leonardo understood that learning never ends—that to live is to be in motion, to grow even in error. His striving was not for perfection as the world defines it, but for deeper understanding, a union between spirit and craft. And so, in the echo of Weymouth’s words, we hear Leonardo’s silent truth: the one who keeps learning, even after the misstep, is the one who draws nearest to greatness.

The heart of Weymouth’s wisdom lies in humility—the willingness to laugh at oneself, to see imperfection as part of the song rather than a flaw in it. In her art, as in life, she understands that rhythm is born not of precision alone, but of soul, of the human touch that wavers and corrects itself. To “bungle” and learn is to remain alive—to remain teachable. And this is no small thing in a world that worships the illusion of mastery. For the perfect note means little if the heart behind it has grown proud or rigid.

Therefore, let this truth be passed on to all who strive: do not fear mistakes; they are the language of progress. When you err, listen. When you falter, reflect. Each misstep reveals a truth that success alone can never teach. The carpenter’s hands grow wise by their blisters, the artist’s eye sharpens by each failed stroke, the heart grows kind by the memory of its own faults. Perfection is not the absence of error—it is the grace with which we learn from it.

And so, let Tina Weymouth’s humble words guide you as a song for the spirit: “It’s hard to be perfect… I keep learning things after I’ve already bungled it.” In this confession lies the highest form of wisdom: that life is a practice, not a performance; a dance, not a destination. To err is to grow, and to grow is to live fully. Therefore, cherish your imperfections, for they are not the scars of failure, but the fingerprints of becoming.