Perfection is the enemy of the good - I've heard that a lot lately. We're surrounded by images that some think are perfection - I'm talking about advertising of course. Beautiful young people in their teens or twenties, mostly white, all blissfully happy, and by the way, asking us to buy this or that. It's hard to watch these images every day and not feel that we just don't measure up. No woman ever has a zit, or flat hair, or even a white hair or two. 'You should look like that' I tell myself.
I think real life is also beautiful - but you can miss it if you are looking for things that correspond to the images created for us by the best minds in California.
Here is a post about The perfection of imperfection by the Cheerful Monk. He says among other wise things that our imperfections are what make us loveable. There you have it - be perfect with no love. Or be imperfect and be loveable. I know which I am.
The other day I went for a walk along College St., Toronto, between Bathurst and Ossington. I was looking for colour in this grey January, and found it at a corner store selling flowers.
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