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  • Writer's picturerebeccaweinand87


Imperfection. Something uncommon to strive for, yet, often what we achieve.

"Imperfection," by Elizabeth Carlson, beautifully describes the process of learning to love our imperfections.

This poem was shared with me in a mindfulness facilitation course. It resonated deeply, not only with my own mindfulness journey, but with my journey of life.

Read and reflect. Read again, if need be, and simply sit with what is.


Elizabeth Carlson

I am falling in love

with my imperfections

The way I never get the sink really clean,

forget to check my oil,

lose my car in parking lots,

miss appointments I have written down,

am just a little late.

I am learning to love

the small bumps on my face

the big bump of my nose,

my hairless scalp,

chipped nail polish,

toes that overlap.

Learning to love

the open-ended mystery

of not knowing why

I am learning to fail

to make lists,

use my time wisely,

read the books I should.

Instead I practice inconsistency,

irrationality, forgetfulness.

Probably I should

hang my clothes neatly in the closet

all the shirts together, then the pants,

send Christmas cards, or better yet

a letter telling of

my perfect family.

But I'd rather waste time

listening to the rain,

or lying underneath my cat

learning to purr.

I used to fill every moment

with something I could

cross off later.

Perfect was

the laundry done and folded

all my papers graded

the whole truth and nothing but

Now the empty mind is what I seek

the formless shape

the strange off center

sometimes fictional


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