One idea that I’ve found particularly interesting in all the mindfulness texts I’ve been reading is the paradox, or seeming paradox, of the perfectly imperfect. Each moment is perfect, just as it is, because each moment is a whole moment of life, of all there is in this universe. And while there may be things you want and need to change about what you’re doing in this life, it doesn’t change the fact that this moment, right here, is perfect and whole. And imperfect too. Full of imperfections like that annoying little pain in the muscle behind my left ear, the bits of popcorn that fell under my desk, the fact that I’m still in my jammies, the stinky cat box. But each and every one of those things IS life. Life happening right now in this moment, this unique, perfect, new moment.
I’m one of those procrastinating perfectionists. I’m constantly worried that my work, my writing, my anything isn’t good enough, yet I live in hope that if I just work harder at it, it could be. But then I keep moving my own goalposts, and nothing could ever, ever measure up to the level of perfection I seem to require of myself, because it’s really an infinity of steps away.
Screw that train of thought. Everything I do is imperfect, and everything that everyone else does is imperfect as well. Because that’s life!
We human beings and our consciousness exist because of imperfections. Billions of years of imperfections, little coding errors creating new DNA, new types of life. If not, we’d still be single celled organisms, after all, and how boring would that be?