The Art of Perf3ction (or lack thereof)
Existence is art.
Art is subjective. So, why do we often feel like we are failing at our own magnum opus?
Comparison.
We are always comparing our lives with or fellow man. This is an imperfect human tendency: to not be happy with what we have. That's why we have the idiomatic phrase, the grass is always greener on the other side. No matter what the circumstance, you and I will examine it and then as a litmus test to judge how we feel about it we will glance over at our neighbor to see how their faring. It is an example of a lack of confidence. In ourselves and our own lives.
You are good enough. People love you. Not everyone, maybe not even the right people, but someone loves you. Accept that. Believe that.
I have a friend. This person is the most obnoxious human I have ever met. They are negative and angry all the time and nothing is ever good. Eeyore (Winnie the Pooh) is a bastion of positivity by comparison. It is part mental illness and part having been raised by a banshee of a step-mother (who had her own strange charms) and part watching a mother drown at a family outing as a child. She is a mess. I can't stand being around this person. And I can put up with anyone.
But someone has love for her.
Not just principled love— do what's right because it's right—but genuine concern and affection. My wife: consistently worries this person will be okay. This, in spite of me saying to 'let the relationship go', that 'the emotional cost is too high', that 'some paths must go their own way'. And there are others. I know this because my wife has a circle of people around the country she talks to in an effort to make sure our friend doesn't slip under the rug and into the shadows completely. It's probably the big sister in her.
My point is that no matter what a mess we feel like we are, someone somewhere has concern and love for us and our pattern of life. Can we improve? Can the craft we practice—called life—be more polished? Certainly. But it doesn't have to be and never will be perfect.
Perfect. That's a funny word to use anyway.
There are two definitions of perfect:
Absolute completeness; flawlessness
Meeting an intended purpose to the fullest degree
Definition one is what gets us into trouble. We expect our lives to be flawless, or at least with as few visible flaws as possible. This absolutism doesn't work and is the wrong approach to the art of our life. Art has two enemies: absence of rules and perfectionism.
There is a story of an artist in his 90's who spent his entire life trying to perfect a painting of a still life. He spent 60 years painting and repainting the same subject, each time improving his technique slightly. He insisted that if he just tried hard enough, he could meet his expectation of perfect. In the end, he had a roomful of duplicates.
And maybe that's fine for him. But the majority of us don't need absolute perfection. We only need our lives to be the best they can be. To meet their intended purpose to the fullest degree. And that's different for all of us.
We aren't manufactured from an assembly line. Each and every one of us is a custom-made, hand-built vehicle of happiness and joy made to enhance the existence of those around us with what we bring to the table. Be okay with that. Accept it as those who love you do.
I hated Picasso's work as a young man, but I have come to appreciate the child-view his work has. He started out like most artists, chasing replication and realism. The time before his Blue Period was pretty typical of any artist. But the work he started making in 1901 began to go beyond the bounds of what we expect from a painter. And it just got more and more unexpected from there until he landed upon the work that made him a household name. And today, I love it.
It's perfect.
Not technically, but emotionally, conceptually, visually, it meets its intended purpose to the fullest degree for me. The childlike view he took in rendering his portraits and still life painting is simply marvelous and inspired.
Maybe your life is too. Maybe you spent the early years trying to be the person that you see in movies, advertisements, on social media, or down the street. But then at some point you had to abandon your traditional expectation of what life should be and just went for it.
You splashed paint outside the lines, mixed unusual colors, and made yourself uncomfortable but found a way forward. And now you are you and it's wonderful. You shouldn't change a thing.
Unless you are unhappy. There are things about our lives that we don't have to accept in order to reach out intended purpose to the fullest degree. A common practice in art is to just paint over problem areas. It is hard to do because it feels like we wasted time and energy. But in the end, the work is better and stronger—and you will be too.
You are beautiful. You are not everyone's cup of tea. That's okay. You can be anything, but you do not have to be everything. And you can’t anyway.
Life is art. And no one is better at your particular voice than you.
And I think that's beautiful.
Thanks for reading and sharing my beautiful lie.
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