As I stood on her porch, my team was wrapping up the renovation of her beautiful aquatic garden. I confidently asked, “What do you think? How does it look?” She glanced at me with a slight grin and said, “So, do you want to tell me what the problem with perfection is, Mr. Schroeder?” Once again, I found the confidence to engage with her, intrigued by the idea of discussing why I struggle with this imperfect world while seeking happiness and perfection.
As my landscaping and aquatic company grew, I spent more time in sales and less on installations. I missed the physical work but enjoyed the conversations with clients. My communication and psychology background allowed me to feel at ease talking with people. Often, I would meet with potential clients to discuss their landscape dreams. When someone said the word “perfect,” I had to stop and explain. “We want this to look perfect when you’re done,” they’d say. There it is—the P word. While I can agree perfection exists in certain things, like bowling a 300 or a flawless fishing cast, a perfect landscape is something else entirely. I’d tell them, “Perfect doesn’t work with bushes, turf, and aquatics.” It’s important to set realistic expectations because pursuing perfection in a landscape often adds 30% more to the quote—20% more time and 50% more stress.
One day, I was about to have an intriguing conversation with “Ms. Perfect.” She lived in an upscale Newburgh subdivision and had heard about our expertise in aquatic gardens. Her pond was pristine, but she was unhappy with the clarity of the water and the cleanliness of the cobbles. She said, “I want it to be like a clean aquarium. I don’t care what it takes.” Hearing this, I knew this project would be a challenge.
Aquatics had always been a passion of mine. Years ago, when I plugged in my first water pump and watched water flow over a basic waterfall, I had an epiphany: “This is what I’m meant to do.” But water gardens weren’t easy. Many landscape companies tried their hand at aquatics in the ’90s but later realized it required more expertise than planting trees. My team, however, was up to the task. We had been called to fix many poorly installed water gardens, often left neglected by other contractors.
As we worked on Ms. P’s pond, I prepared my crew, warning them she would be a tough customer. When I arrived at the job site, I intercepted her as she came down the stairs, distressed by the sight of water spilling onto her grass. I quickly reassured her and introduced the crew, explaining that we would meet her high expectations. Keeping her distracted with conversation, I listened to her complaints about past contractors who had failed to meet her standards. No one could get things perfect.
When the job was done, she was pleased with the results. As she wrote the check, she asked, “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong with wanting perfection?” I agreed, and we sat down inside her picture-perfect kitchen. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she asked again, “What’s wrong with wanting perfection?”
“Well,” I began, “people who seek perfection are rarely satisfied. Perfection is difficult to define, and those who chase it often aren’t happy for long. I’ve found that people focused on perfection tend to miss the beauty right in front of them.” I reminded her of the panic she felt earlier over a small patch of grass affected by the pond water. “That grass was barely noticeable, yet it caused so much stress. If you focus on such details, happiness slips away.”
We continued to talk, and I could see she was digesting my words. “When you strive for perfection, it’s short-lived. Even the things you think are perfect will eventually fade or become imperfect again. Happiness lies in appreciating what is, rather than dwelling on what could be perfect.”
As I left, I walked past her sparkling pond, knowing it, too, would eventually lose its clarity. I wondered if, when she stepped outside, she’d focus on the beautiful flow of water or obsess over the grass near the ditch. I drove off, reflecting on how I choose to see the world—embracing the imperfections that make life beautiful.
Each day when I walk out of my home, I see hundreds of moments of joy in the 14 acres I’ve cultivated. My yard may not be perfect, but it’s beyond perfect to me because it grew with confidence, patience, and respect. By letting God use His own paintbrush, I’ve learned that perfection is ever-changing, and I’m just passing through, marveling at the beauty along the way.