I'd like to begin by announcing that I'm not perfect. I've never been perfect, nor will I ever be perfect. And yet, I live in a culture that preaches perfection; it's all around me...on television, in magazines, on the internet. I can't escape this idea of being perfect, which, for someone as aware of my imperfections as I am, has caused me anxiety throughout my life.
Perfection is an unreal idea. What is perfect? No matter how 'perfect' someone or something is, there are flaws, problems, annoyances. Actually, I think the word 'perfect' is overused, similarly to the word 'like.' I've never had perfect skin, for example, but I'm told repeatedly of what to buy that will give me perfect skin. Actually, if I had my own personal photoshop that I could carry around with me, erasing skin flaws, maybe then I'd have perfect skin. Since that isn't possible, I take good care of my skin, hoping that'll be enough. My body is far from perfect, but it functions pretty well. My health is good, and my physical abilities have improved dramatically. We recently hiked into a place called Zapata Falls, which is only 1/2 mile but at 9400 feet above sea level. When I did it several years ago, I could hardly breathe and had to stop repeatedly because it exhausted me too much. This time, I hiked all the way up without stopping and without panting like a dog. My body has flaws, but I have good health.
I also wonder about the notion of being a perfect wife. My husband has flaws, and so do I. We recognize and appreciate the flaws within one another, but we don't necessarily force the other to change. One of my husband's flaws is his Chicken Little attitude toward money. I try to keep track of our money so I don't have to hear him ranting and raving about how our financial sky is falling. We've talked about this flaw of his, and he knows how I feel when he is upset about money. To his credit, he tries to temper his reactions to our finances, and I try to help by recording what we spend. It's not perfect, but it works for us. As for one of my flaws, I like to cuss. A lot. Most people don't expect me to drop F-bombs everywhere, and it's fun for me to shock them. My husband hates when I cuss and has told me so. Out of respect for him, I do my best to watch my language in front of him. Also, I don't work at home and am, in fact, a lazy housekeeper. I hate to cook, but when I do cook, I try to make delicious meals. I don't know where my husband's slippers are, and I'm more likely to be found reading the newspaper than him. However, we are--with all our imperfections--perfect for one another as we accept, respect, and love the other.
Striving for perfection has, over the years, caused me a great deal of anxiety and stress. There are better wives, mothers, daughters than me, but I have a lot to offer as well. There are far better teachers than me, but I work hard to be good for my students. There are plenty of skinny women or fit women, but I can only worry about me. And isn't that what is wrong with the idea of perfection? I will never be tall, skinny, or have the right length of hair. I will never wear trendy clothes, live in a trendy place, or visit trendy restaurants. I can only do justice to who I am, what I have, and find peace within myself.
