I admitted to my kids the other day that I’m not perfect. I thought they already knew that! Apparently they just never heard me say it! 🙄🙈
“Perfection” was a lot easier when I was younger.
First of all, I didn’t know enough about the world to see all of it through a realistic lens. My rose-coloured glasses kept everything that wasn’t “perfect” blurry and out of focus.
As I get older and realize that perfection is and always was a myth. Imperfection allows me to make mistakes which create space for me to grow. Imperfection allows me to embrace more of this world and of myself.
There’s something scary about perfection. Perfection begs to be maintained, and it is so easily offended by reality. And I think that’s part of the reason I am so very okay with wearing clothing that is slightly flawed. If a piece of clothing comes pre-“flawed“, I feel less pressure for me to try to maintain the illusion of perfection. Flaws mean that that piece of clothing is real, and I think I’m ready for “real” with all that entails. 💪🏾
If there is perfection, it is fleeting, and that’s what makes it special, not the fact that it can be maintained forever.