I am supposed to be out mowing the lawn this morning. I am supposed to pick up the pine cones (a regular springtime activity here) before I mow the lawn. But a day or so ago Flamingo Dancer posted a blog about deceit which has roused my brain, resulting in a blog roiling about and pushing at me to put it down on virtual paper. So that is what I am about to do.
What is it in our souls that creates this need to have a public face of perfection? I suspect it is our society – that society that says women must always be young, slender and beautiful and men must be buff, virile and handsome – although society seems more accepting of men aging than it does women. Our society that says each of us should be super-humans, that we can “do it all”.
The sun rises each day, clouds billow each day
and the sun sets each day, giving the illusion of perfection in nature.
But even in nature, there is imperfection, there are parasites that attempt to suck the life out of their hosts, just as we face trials and tribulations that threaten to defeat us.
When will we learn that our lives are not perfect, and we cannot make them perfect. If those imperfect times did not occur, would we really appreciate the times that near that perfection?
Why do we feel the need to present ourselves, our homes, our cars, our children as perfect? My children are the light of my life and have been since their births. Are they perfect? No, and they never have been. After all, their parents are imperfect.
We are all frail even in our strengths. We are human. We need to celebrate that humanity!
My kids, imperfect beings that they are, have struggled at times, have battled their way through their struggles and will battle more I am certain. They have grown up strong, independent and, for the most part I believe, happy. I have been an imperfect mother, an imperfect human, and there are things in my life I wish I had done differently. But would I go back and change them? No! Not at all! Because if I did, I would not be where I am now. I would not be here, trying new things, producing imperfect samples of my attempts.
I would not be enjoying the whimsical parts of life
and thrilling at the talents of those that can demonstrate that whimsy, that joy, for the rest of us.
What I am trying to share here is that perfect or not, life goes on. Recognize that our links to perfection are rusty and tenuous.
And that it doesn’t matter, really. All we can do is the best we can do and if we are really trying to be the best people we are able to be, if we are loving and giving and doing no harm, that is as close to perfection as possible. Treat others as you wish to be treated – old advice, but true.
Walk away from trying to be a super-human. Let your feet get dirty, your outer covering get messy – just enjoy, laugh, muddle through your imperfect but satisfactory lives as best you can.
Appreciate that that is enough.