... imperfection ...

I had followed the mapquest directions exactly.  Made every turn, marked every street name.  I was here.

Supposedly.

I parked the car and walked up to the cobalt blue door.  No sign.  No welcome mat.  I tried the knob.            

Locked.

So I knocked.  A round man with glasses peeked his dark head out.
       "Is this an art school?"  He nodded and opened the door wide enough for me to squeeze in.              
       "I'm here for an interview?"  He pointed down the hallway to my right.
I later found out, as I embarked on my ten minute tour of the campus, that mapquest had steered me wrong again.  The front entrance was on the other side of the building, along with the appropriate signage.
              I loved it.  The gray cement walls and drafting tables flecked with paint.  The modest skylights and basement studios.  The faint smell of turpentine, linseed oil and must.  Dented mismatched metal chairs and an easel held together with masking tape.  A worn in feeling to settle into.

Sign me up, I wanted to say.  I'm in.

I met with a gray haired professor who had a glint in his eye and an emphatic way about him.  He complimented my portfolio and my personality.

"When you're accepted... and I said, when, because we are going to accept you        

whether or not you accept us..."

I was in shock.  Apparently the feeling was mutual.  The school loved me at first sight too.
Taking the advice of my family and friends, I decided to play the field a little longer.  See what else was out there before settling down.
              So the following week, I drove out to Old Lyme.  The entrance was clearly marked, the lawns tidy and trim, each brick on the building seemed to sparkle.  We toured the pristine campus.  Every studio had high vaulted ceilings and plenty of natural light.  Each chair and easel was in mint condition and the ventilation system was working all day to keep the air clean.  And the view.  A view many famous impressionists have painted.  A pond, tall trees, long grass.... perfection.
              The admissions lady was very polite.  She asked me about my work and told me the next steps to take.  I thanked her for her time.
              As I drove away, I thought, what a nice school.  Something to take home to mom and dad.
But no.
       Not for me.
                    My perfect fit had a little more imperfection.