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.
Imperfection
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
me.