What is perfect? Who is perfect? And above all, why does it even have to be perfect? It need not be. Rather, it must not be. Perfection is the end. The Dead-end. Perfection is a myth, I hope.
I am imperfect and I am happy about it. Imperfection is what gives me a reason to be; a purpose. A purpose to head some way. Imperfection gives me the motivation to rush, run and try to achieve the mirage of perfection twinkling in sunshine far away, alluring me like a seductive sensation.
So, I run. I run every day. And when the day ends with a hope that, I might have inched a little closer to perfection, the next day, I wake up only to find that the perfection has inched a bit farther. So, I run, all over again. But, before you pity me, let me tell you that is for the good, I firmly believe.
Making peace with your imperfection is the perfect way. Acknowledging your impurity is the purest form of being. This may sound like the most ironic perspective, but it is the simplest way to put it.
Get out of the temptation of achieving perfection. Yes, run at it. Good. Never achieve it. Even Better.
I wish for the Perfection to move farther as I approach. That is how I can keep going. That is how I can keep growing.
I love my imperfection for being the cause of my continual growth. I love my imperfection for being the reason of my being.
Photo Credit: TanteTati