Perfection, for the record, does not exist. It is an obscure term that we hold and measure ourselves to. It is something so many of us aspire toward. We want the perfect job, the perfect man / woman, the perfect family. We want the perfect house, the perfect car. We want to look perfect and have the perfect clothes. We want to be perfectly happy in our perfect lives.
With the advent of television and as it became mainstream all of us watching became part of an inadvertent experiment really. Advertising began to go global. The American dream was being sold on the world stage and many of us wanted to buy it. Then that too began to change.
I have likely been exposed to hundreds of hours of advertising. For several years I stopped eating butter because I believed it was bad for me. It’s not. Margarine on the other hand is one molecule away from being a plastic. Even bugs won’t touch it and what I have come to realize is that if a bug won’t touch it, neither should I.
I have, in a very brief period of time, watched a generation forget how to eat and prepare food. We now look for ready-made everything never stopping to think of what these items may contain in their mass productive state to keep them ‘fresh’ and the effect that may have on our bodies. When I was younger, in mid to late September we canned veggies and fruits. Baked salmon was put in jars as well. The pantry would be full. Pretty much everything was made from ‘scratch’ and you know, it really didn’t take that long.
I have really gotten back into this. In fact, I got to thinking that perhaps I should start putting on a canning party in the fall. We could all bring our stuff over and have a day of it and share the proceeds amongst each other as many of us are on our own now.
And we are primping and polishing ourselves. Aging has become the new ‘disease.’ God forbid I should allow a wrinkle or frown line to appear when there is Botox at the ready. It will smooth away any of my expressions making me appear the perfect ‘Stepford Wife.’ (And I ain’t even married!)
Even our world is not perfect you know. She wobbles precariously around the Sun. The Earth’s inner core is constantly shifting and adjusting to energy being absorbed and released. Eruptions and crazy ass storms occur destroying what may have taken hundreds or even thousands of years to develop. It is just the way of things.
We live in an environment that can be hostile and at times violent. It can also be the epitome of peace. All these contradictions are what make this world what it is and all the imperfections that exist in me and that I try to balance on any given day are what make me human. At 55 years of age I think I am an attractive woman. I have fine lines around my eyes and on my forehead. I am beginning to see the signs of the dreaded chicken neck. But I can live with it. You may find me making a hell of a lot more chicken jokes over the next few years. I am well endowed in the chest area, but the girls succumbed to gravity a few years ago as did my posterior. Still they are not too shabby looking. The other funny thing about my boobs is that once they became semi-retired they now point is different directions. Yes, completely out of alignment.
And I have my crooked foot. If you watched me run you would see a woman with an awkward gait as her right foot rolls inward to compensate.
And that’s me with just a few of my imperfections. Each line on my face tells a story. Each step that I take reaffirms my place in this world. I am a kind and gentle being. I cry and bleed like everyone else. I will not spend the remainding years of my life chasing someone’s idea of who I should be. I did that in my youth during those insecure formative years. The lesson learned at that time is that no matter how hard I tried to be what I thought someone wanted, it was never good enough.
Then I had that epiphany that many of us do. “Why not just be yourself!” What a concept!
Embrace your imperfections and like who you are. You have to live hopefully a very long time with yourself. Oh, I know there will be those who argue that surgery and Botox help them be their best. We can debate any number of things actually. I guess my concern is when I see girls in their twenties having Botox treatments as a preventative step against aging.
True story. This was on the news about a month ago. This young woman has been having Botox treatments for two years. She is now 25 yrs of age. Her father is a dentist and here in Vancouver they have somehow cornered the market on this one. She likely gets them for free considering her connection.
What I wondered is what her face would like in 25 years after the muscles have been repeatedly rendered frozen and unusable. And this saddened me. That somehow looking ‘perfect’ meant forgoing the laugh lines, the furrowed brow when worried and lines from those times when sorrow was felt so deeply tears fell in a torrent.
Embrace your humanness. It is fleeting and at the end of the day I would want the people I know to remember the look of love on my face, not the perfectly smooth skin it was hidden beneath.
Enjoy your day!