Imperfection

imperfectphoto © 2009 romana klee | more info (via: Wylio)
I love magazines, especially magazines about living life. There are all of the glossy pictures of perfectly coiffed people doing things just right. Whether it is a house that is decorated to absolute perfection, or children with just the right amount of whimsy making art projects, I love to look at them. I love the magazines where non-sweating people have perfect exercise form. Even the less happy pictures are great. The woman who had her disability revoked is posed just so on a great looking couch. The exasperated parent still looks good. In the glossy pages I find a world that I rarely, if ever, experience. It is a perfect world.

It is not reality. Truth is, you do not want to see what I look like walking on my treadmill at 4:30 in the morning. My family tends to leave things lying around our family room. There is a stain on a chair. My daughter is beautiful, but art projects are done in her oldest clothes, and she often styles her hair herself. The styles are great, but they are not perfect. When I am dealing with difficulties, I am not sitting just so on the couch. I may be curled up in the fetal position, but it is not pretty. While everything is folded in my linen closet, the stacks of towels are not perfect. Members of this household jostle the stacks constantly looking for a favorite towel. Sometimes the washcloths are just thrown in anywhere. You get the point. My life is nothing like the world portrayed in the glossy pages of all of those magazines.

Most of reality is probably closer to my life than the world created in the glossy pages. That is okay. We are not perfect. Our job is not to be perfect. Our job is to be good enough. Good enough can mean different things to different people, but we each must decide what it means to us. For me, it means an imperfect linen closet, but my family is more self-sufficient. (I still have hope that my husband will learn to fold towels correctly.) I may not be presentable on the treadmill, but I clean up okay when I’m leaving the house. There may be some clutter, but it is not to the point that I am anxious or concerned about hearing from the local health department. The glossy pages of the magazines are not where we live. We live in an imperfect world. We must accept good enough in ourselves and others so that we can enjoy our reality.

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