How To Be Perfect
Step One: You Can’t
Everyone here has their shit together except me.
This is my twice daily thought as I bustle about life. I’m flabbergasted by women who wear high heels for their full eight hour day. Watching them confidentially pound the hard concrete sidewalks of the bustling city, I become bashfully aware of my tennis shoes and pencil skirt getup. There are men in tailored suits who never break a sweat (meanwhile I’m dripping like candlewax the moment summer touches 80 degrees). Everyone on Facebook is simultaneously traveling to Italy and getting promotions. One friend with four cherub blonde children manages to do Crossfit six days a week. I’m happy if I remember to drink water before noon. I feel like I’m walking through life with a low-grade fever of anxiety and shame. My fellow Earth passengers appear very chill, but I look like the TJ Maxx Clearance rack the day after Black Friday.
Fear is my #1 motivator. And I think its because society feeds on anxiety and self-doubt. I’m not talking about false bravado — that sickenly annoying characteristic of your charismatic frienemy. This is the idea that no one is good enough, and it’s 100% our fault. How heavy, to truly believe everything we do or do not do is weighed on a giant golden balance that grants us success or failure, incrementally, every day. Which means if you forgo baking cookies for your kid’s Cub Scout meeting to instead watch Friends reruns, I’ll see you in Hell.
Though our moms taught us no one is perfect, why are we still so obsessed with chasing perfection? Rather than being scorned for our inadequacies, we should be drawn closer together in relational comfort. C.S. Lewis proclaimed, “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one!’” If you have any perfect friends, here’s a clue: #1 They aren’t perfect. #2 They are likely exhausted trying to keep up the ruse of perfection #3 They are probably really annoying, like Sarah Jessica Parker in that terrible movie, I Don’t Know How She Does It.
We are obsessed with “fixing” imperfection. Self-help books, diets, a culture that glorifies busy-ness. (A recent interaction with a friend: “How are you?” “Good! Busy. Tired.” “Me too! Busy! TIRED.” “Gosh, isn’t it just great?”) If you are sitting still, you are losing at life. You should be learning how to paint, writing poetry, curing diseases, applying to law school, and volunteering on the weekends. Like Ralphie’s kid brother in A Christmas Story, we should bundle up our brokenness with duct tape, bubble wrap, and multiple layers of thick coats and walk to school in the bitter cold chanting this is totally fine until we collapse from exhaustion. Everyone is tired yet still participating in the same rat race that inspires feelings of shame and unworthiness. We carry this like a load of anvils. And it is a long. road.
But how do we gracefully exit left while still being productive members of society (unlike your 2nd cousin who totally lost their mind and is now a “social director” on a cruise ship docked in Barbados)? How do we embrace imperfection, grief, loss, anxiety, and stuck-ness?
The Japanese art of kintsugi is the practice of repairing broken objects with precious metal. They take a broken vase, and instead of discarding the shards, they piece it together with molten streaks of gold — not to simply “fix” the pottery, but to actually highlight and enhance the break. This practice renders a beautiful, unique piece of art, more valuable than the original vessel. These treasures repaired by gold become family heirlooms and museum artifacts, trading mere functionality for a symbolic reminder that broken does not mean useless, ugly, or unwanted.
This also aligns with the Japanese concept of “wabi-sabi” — a world view that embraces the beauty of age and wear. Can you imagine if our culture accepted, or even encouraged, imperfection? Can you imagine if you did?
Perfection isn’t the point; relationship is the point. Telling your friend being tired isn’t great! Spreading the word that flats are an acceptable alternative to high heels. Discarding the facade of Pleasantville and having a real, bold, tough conversation about how are you struggling. Asking your friend if they are struggling too. There is beauty in imperfection, deliberate or accidental. It allows us to recover, grow, fortify ourselves with golden streaks. If you let release yourself from this tired trope, you’ll probably be happier. And you’ll definitely be less tired.
