I’m not interested in perfection especially when it comes to people. Like the girl I had a crush on in high school who seemed entirely too perfect. Certainly too perfect to ever notice me.
Years later I found out out that she struggled through life like everyone else. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but she now seemed far more interesting.
Tonight over dinner my brother shared an experience with me about running a business. He probably doesn’t realize it, but I feel more connected to him than before. He’s always seems so calm, but underneath that exterior, he has the same questions I’ve had during my career.
Being perfect is boring.
Friends and family who go to great lengths to hide challenges and the rough spots end up with less intense relationships because it’s difficult to relate to perfection. And it’s exhausting keeping up the facade that nothing goes wrong.
As a young boy my father seemed perfect to me. I began to wonder if he’d ever made a mistake until I watched a cop pull him over for speeding in his Plymouth Duster, and he let a “damn” fly.
The wrapper of perfection was off, and I began relating to him as my father, imperfections and all, instead of the robo-dad.
I gravitate to bloggers who are not afraid to detail the bad with the good. I wish I was able to balance this better with my own blog, but I seldom feel like writing when a part of my life is spiraling down the drain.
Yet those are the times I should capture and share.