There is something quite lovely about being perfectly imperfect.  Perfection takes a lot of work and it leaves no room for anything other than itself – perfection.  Imperfection on the other hand, while often associated with failure, is really the mother of creativity.  While perfection may be coloring in the lines with the prescribed and expected colors, imperfection has the freedom to be anything but perfection; hence, pink skies, blue dogs, scribbled beige roses – whatever – it’s all good in the world of imperfection because the only rule is- not perfect.

I like this world of imperfection and the world of imperfection likes me.  Indeed, I cannot think of a single thing I do perfectly and note that I state that without one ounce of regret.  I don’t want to be perfect – it lacks imagination and flare and excitement.  I don’t want to be a forgone conclusion – I want to embrace the possibilities in all things and that means allowing room for being other things than perfect.

One might say I am nothing short of a poster child for the joys of imperfection.  In my kitchen hangs a giant wood sign that I had made for me to remind me of the joys available to an open mind.  The sign reads, "Dwell in possibility…", and it serves as a consistent reminder that every day, every task, every interaction offers a plethora of possibilities if you are open to them.  Imperfection suits this mentality well – imperfection expands the view of possibilities.

In clay class over the past two evenings with Cheyenne I created two things – a bird and a clay box.  Neither creation was perfect…truly neither creation was even noteworthy artistically (except perhaps in a "what no to do" frame). But these two things, as remedial as they were, illustrated something about me – I don’t mind not acheiving perfection as long as I can have the opportunity to enjoy the process.  This is not to say that I wouldn’t love to have a creative bone somewhere in this body, but instead to say that being absent such a bone won’t stop me from exploring the joy in the effort.

So here is to the perfectly imperfect folks in the world and the beautiful place in which they dwell…I so love being amongst you.

Day three hundred and thirteen of the new forty – obla di obla da

CC