Imperfection is avoided at all costs in the age of social media. Even the social media exhibited to show realness is at the most just picking the most attractive or likeable imperfect moment of the day to share.
But when you shuffle together all those imperfections at once you suddenly arrive at a chaotic humiliating mess. And when you remember this, it becomes an assault on your whole ego and self perceived identity.
There is a word in Japanese that I'm starting to learn: wabi sabi. It means celebrating the imperfect. I say that word and see the image of glued-together ceramic plates that accompanied the article where I first read about it, and my whole body relaxes. I breathe out in a big sigh, the way I've been craving and forcing and practicing with anxious effort for days, but this time it is spontaneously calming. Sweet relief.
I thought, I like that, and a smile formed in my heart, but I didn't view it as more than a nice passing thought. Now though, I'm learning. Really learning. With some fantastically wise and real souls sending out these gifts of wisdom in virtual nuggets, somehow they are sinking in now.
It could be a phase I'm having. Each new thing I learn becomes a religion I'm dying to follow. Nevertheless, any human professing this great truth that the imperfect actually IS the good is now someone I'm instantly drawn to.
OK, maybe I need to walk the talk and perhaps give some real world evidence. I had a shit day. I couldn't sleep last night, up thinking in anxiety loops about disaster situations happening to my kids and family. This happens every time on the first night of my period. Then I'm sleep deprived all the next day.
Today: I am crying buckets at the Mars rover landing and meanwhile my kids are fighting over a toy, and I ugly yell at my son to not hurt his sister. I'm scatterbrained all day and accomplish not much, ordering groceries, switching the laundry from machine to machine, ordering food for a friend. Wiping down countertops, sweeping floor, doing the bare minimum of tidying the random objects my 2yo leaves in every nook and cranny (tongs, spatulas, bandaids, baby dolls, playdough pieces). I ignore the entire family room, letting it go to ruin as I focus on kitchen/dining areas (I'm assuming- isn't this the strategy of moms everywhere? Sacrifice one room to clean barely one other?). I begrudgingly drag them into carseats to do errands then begrudgingly follow them around while they play with neighborhood kids.
But then: I joyfully eat my takeout thai, sip my wine and sneak away to "the room", the only one that locks and keeps out prying hands, demanding voices. So tired am I then that I don't feel guilty about not attempting "good self care" like exercise, hygiene, journaling, planning, organizing. I just unapologetically watch netflix. Later, I've heard the signs that hubby and kids have made it upstairs and are doing bedtime things. Even later, I'm curious why there hasn't been banging on my door, and it's strangely quiet. I emerge, peek at them, and the door isn't even locked, isn't even closed. All asleep, beautifully.
I skip downstairs. It's so early! I'm free! I go into the first floor bathroom, look around, and just stop and laugh. To the left of the sink, clean dishes are piled drying on a towel where I had instructed my son to put the plastic dishware he so eagerly wanted to wash himself. To the right, the small training potty my daughter selected herself from the garage storage so she could start going poopoo on her own (and inside, a small shard of poo speaking to her success).
Why is this funny? While I was busy fretting and feeling burdened by my imperfection, my kids were just getting on with doing the amazing things they do. And to be truly honest, I don't have a whole lot to do with it, other than getting out of their way and not breathing down their necks at every moment in their day. So while I was busy crying about Perseverence, shuffling back and forth being bored with my chores, and generally worrying that I am not doing enough, there they were just carrying on, beautifully!
I think there is a win and a learning here. Win: I let the kids just be today, for better or worse. But also, because of that, I felt aimless, and therefore found myself with too many choices and opportunities to judge myself for making wrong ones. And there is what I learned: It's ME that needs to figure out what to do with myself that is as calming, fulfilling, and challenging as the playing and bickering my kids did all day. I need to look at the mess and love it even while cleaning it, look at the issues before me and appreciate them even while tackling and planning them. And also, I just need to stop trying so hard once in awhile, like when I abandoned my kids and husband, locked myself in a room to watch netflix, and then they all magically and peacefully fell asleep at an early hour.
In that moment, I realized that I would love more ease in my life. And now I'm thinking that easiness will come only when the *imperfect* is the goal. Not perfection.
So I'll continue my quest to learn the ways of wabi sabi, and its corollaries. I'll be ok with religious zealotry once in a while. I'll make those mistakes and move onto the next ones. And also, I'll try to keep talking up to friends (and strangers on the internet) how amazing messiness and awkwardness and imperfection is. Not amazing, though, it's better than that. It's fucking beautiful.
