The Upside of Imperfection

In the spring of life, I expected perfection – perfect son, grades, job, husband, father.  Such thinking is a gift of youth, before life weighs in.  Of course I never achieved perfection, but the aspiration pushed me to do better.  By mid-life I accepted that perfection for me was an illusion.  Perhaps some could reach it, but I would not.  The striving sometimes had a downside.  Voltaire is believed to have said that “the perfect is the enemy of the good.” That seemed to fit.  Life could be very good, and that was good enough.  In the winter of life, I’ve come to appreciate not just that perfection is the carousel ring always out of reach but that imperfection can be a gift.

Being imperfect induces a healthy humility.  It’s hard to be an egotist filled with hubris when I know I’ve fallen short. Recognizing my imperfection also makes me more accepting of others’ imperfections. As writer Donald Miller put it, “When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.” No one likes a person who thinks he’s perfect or who thinks you should be.  Empathy comes with this understanding of human failings.

Accepting imperfection is essential to preserving and appreciating our closest relationships.  Expecting perfection in marriage, for example, is a sure road to conflict.  Two people cannot help but fall short at times of what they expect from each other. “She’s not perfect, and neither are you” Will’s therapist tells him about his newfound love in the film Good Will Hunting.  “But you can be perfect together.” Thomas Jefferson put it nicely too:  “None of us, no, not one, is perfect; and were we to love none who had imperfections, this world would be a desert for our love.”

Imperfection can even be joyful, if accepted with a sense of humor.  When my lack of depth perception causes me to hit my head on street posts or doorjambs, my wife’s laughter (once she’s sure I’m OK) brings forth my own.  Such moments are “the good stuff,” the source of special memories and the life’s blood of the shared history of friends and family.

Of course my memories can also be imperfect. That can be a source of trouble if I refuse to acknowledge it but a source of joy when shared with someone else who was there. Two imperfect memories can warm hearts when shared, as was lovingly portrayed in the song “I Remember It Well,” between aging Hermione Gingold (Grandmama) and Maurice Chevalier (Honore) in 1958’s film Gigi:

"Honore: We met at nine
Grandmama:We met at eight
Honore:I was on time
Grandmama:No, you were late
Honore:Ah yes, I remember it well"

Imperfection is essential to learning.  Each time I hang a stained glass panel, the first thing I focus on are my mistakes - a poor design element here, sloppy soldering there.  I rarely learn from success because I’ve no reason to step back and say “what happened and what should I do about it?”  The result of imperfection is moving closer to - if never reaching – perfection.  Perfection is in most cases nearly possible to define anyway. (OK, I’ll admit a perfect game in baseball is pretty perfect!)

Imperfection is a point on a yardstick, enabling us to see how far we’ve come from where we might have been without striving – and how far we have to go.  George Washington University management professor Jerry Harvey used to quip to leaders that every team needs a few poor performers and should even make sure to hire some.  They allow the rest of the team to gauge their performance and set goals.  It’s hard to push people to excel in the mythic Lake Wobegon when everyone is already above average. 

This is as true in nature as in human affairs.  I appreciate the beauty of a sunflower because I’ve seen one that has wilted.  I’m in awe of clouds hugging the Blue Ridge Mountains after a cool fall rain because I’ve seen a cloudless sky above them on a hot, hazy summer afternoon. 

Embracing imperfection also frees me to try.  When I’m afraid I’ll fail, I turn off the possibility of engaging life fully, with all that it holds.  This is perhaps a variation of “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” applied to what we might experience or become if we are willing to take some risks. 

I can demand perfection or I can accept that the perfect “10.0” is likely for only a very few – and even then in only one part of their lives.  To aim for perfection may be admirable but anger at imperfection paves the road to unhappiness. “If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content,” Nataly tells her husband Arseny in Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. 

To see and appreciate imperfection in myself and the world around me, in a counterintuitive way I never imagined in my naïve youth, actually makes my life rather perfect.

Photo Credit: Carol Donsky Newell