A snow-covered mountain is an image of pristine beauty, “white,” as they say, “as the driven snow.” But when you actually get up in that snow you will find the perfect cover is marred with the tracks of animals and people, with dust and twigs and droppings and all the imperfections that come with the presence of life. Other people’s lives often look smooth and glossy from a distance, but not one of us lives in a place of purity and perfection.
How do you embrace your imperfections?
I have learned that it’s OK to laugh at myself when I do something foolish. The other day I was having trouble opening a lock and a younger man suggested that I turn the key over. Of course, it worked. I thought it was funny that I could be so dumb about it. As he and his buddy were walking away I could here them making comments about me and laughing at my expense. Rather than making me angry, I saw the humor in the situation too and found myself chucking along with them. That would not have been the case 20 years ago. I am learning that getting older has a few benefits. Learning to not take yourself so seriously is one of them.
Most drama movies & T.V. shows try to be the “serious” side of life, but by doing so end up becoming more unreal. Comedy is the closest thing to the truth that fiction will ever get. Don’t believe me? Consider this. Michael Egan, an owner of a BBQ joint in Hackensack, NJ has a side gig as an important advisor to the North Korean mission to the U.N. You can read about it in “Eating With the Enemy.” Embrace the humor in life. It’s more real than you can imagine.
I don’t embrace my numerous imperfections. I try to fix them.
How do you embrace your imperfections?…
I find it hard – because I have very little patience for my imperfections … despite the fact that I can (in the right situation) make broad allowances for somebody else’s imperfections. I expect me to do everything right, the first time – so as not to waste anybody else’s time; and so as not to embarrass myself (a throw-over from my father). I worry them, like a dog with a favourite old bone. They nag at the back of my brain – even when I am trying to enjoy something else, totally unrelated … as if, I will not allow myself to enjoy a moment, until I have “fixed” that which (I feel) needs repair.
Namaste,
Dwayne