No one likes perfection in a person. Who can relate to that? Even those who aspire to it are quick to distance themselves from that aspiration. Our imperfections make us who we are. They set us apart as individuals, unique in our exact jumble of good and bad qualities, and relatable in ways we couldn’t otherwise be, were we not so flawed. Right?
“Don’t go changing to try and please me / you’ve never let me down before … I love you just the way you are”
I can appreciate this widespread sentiment but in human nature it’s simply not true, and I wish the world would be honest about it.
The imperfections that make each of us a “one-of-one” human are beautifully celebrated in books and movies and songs and art. That’s the formula, right? Flawed human faces challenge, tries to be perfect and fails, embraces imperfect self, then succeeds (and gets the guy/girl in the process). We love this idea because it means that our inherent value as a person is more important in society than the person we wish we could be (or think we should be). That people resonate with us not in spite of our flaws, but in some ways because of them. We want to think that when things go south and we are revealed for the messy, flawed people that we are, those around us will see that humanity and soften in the face of it. Their anger or frustration at our wrongdoing, whether good- or ill-intentioned, will turn almost immediately into forgiveness and (more importantly) a path forward with no looking back. Maybe a beat or two in there where one wonders…is this it? Have a I truly messed this up forever? Before getting the inevitable, positive response. Of course you are flawed, we all are, that’s what makes you YOU and that’s all we want you to be! All is well.
It’s romantic to think that the very qualities about us that frustrate – or even hurt – others are indeed the things that make us interesting, engaging, memorable (in a good way). What a relief if we can lay down the burden of trying to do everything right, all the time, to the best of our ability. But, to cite a fairly superficial example…when someone prone to absentmindedness forgets to pay the light bill again and house goes dark, the inconvenience and cost of setting things to rights again falls on another person – one who isn’t prone to absentmindedness – and how lovable does that imperfection feel then?
There is one consistent point at which we celebrate a person’s flaws, and that is when they are gone. It’s amazing how death clears a path for us to appreciate and celebrate imperfection. Suddenly, that absentmindedness that generated so many fights in life becomes a loving differentiator. A person’s constant habit of exaggeration draws affectionate laughter: “you had to take every single thing he ever said with a giant grain of salt.” A wild, untamed spirit is remembered as a sort of passion unmatched by other, more ordinary people. A person willing to do anything (right or wrong) to protect their people is a hero.
The hard question: did we really feel that way when they were alive, or is it possible for us to be nostalgic for these qualities because they don’t impact us anymore?
I have a certain skillset that, humorously, calls to mind Colonel Jessep in A Few Good Men – you want me on that wall, you need me on that wall. It’s not an unfair comparison and I won’t pretend that sometimes, it means I might choose a terribly flawed path in protection of the world I love. There’s a bible verse that speaks to this push-pull in I Samuel, where God says “…men judge by outward appearance, but I look at a man’s thoughts and intentions.” Because I know my own flaws and also my own motivations, I am trying in my relationships, close or superficial, to use this filter – on their actions and on mine. When it comes to flaws, I want that hard question to be an easy one. I want the appreciation I have for people after they are gone to mirror the here and now. I’m not naive enough to expect the same from others; perhaps the greatest flaw (perfection?) of them all is to do exactly what you want to do without consideration of whether others would do the same for you.
