Staying near to perfect is perhaps better

I wonder if any clear attempt to become perfect causes us to doom ourselves beforehand? It's pretty early here again and I'm thinking of so many things. Mostly the surrealistic dreams that awake me early in the morning. This time around it was about the urge to lick the deepest lake in Europe clean to keep my own sanity. Putting that side for now, another was a memory that troubled me about an experience caused by a classmate of mine who was the much more tallented artist than me. I talked to someone about him just before going to sleep on here last night. He was so very good at it, both drawing and painting. I just threw my brushes then and there when he painted something really beautiful in the impressionistic style in a couple of minutes. Well, in short, he ended his life over ten years ago already. A drug related issue, I heard afterwards. His father was the old school head of my mixed middle school, and I heard that he took it very hard. Tragic. I wonder if it's that that made me step aside. The sense that wanting to become a really good artist at times comes with a lot of strain and tragedy