I don’t want to be perfect or be called perfect, because I consider it a huge insult. I fully understand that you might see perfection in me, but please do not tell me – I beg you. But if in a moment of insanity laced weakness you blurt out how perfect I am, I would feel sad and distraught. And why would I feel that way? Because I find that perfection is boring – and I don’t want to be considered boring – do you?
Perfection is the state of completeness, of utmost flawlessness. The old Greek dude Aristotle explained a few years back perfection as something which is complete and contains all essential parts, something that is so good that it cannot to any extent be made any better or something that has attained its full purpose. So to some extent we do use “perfect” correctly; not perfectly, but at least correct for others to understand what we mean.
Some self-proclaimed brainy dudes came up with the statement that a singular paradox would be that the greatest perfection is imperfection. And my brain burps and goes into deep confusion, screaming: whatever!
But then I realize that this statement could have some merit. This is what I think: People (as in you and I) are not perfect – because it is impossible for us to reach perfection – though a few of us are getting pretty darn close. So let’s swing with that and then consider that we could be perfect in-spite of our imperfections or more so because of our imperfections. So we are as perfect as can be, because we (as in you and I) cannot be perfect, but we can reach perfection with our imperfections. Makes sense to me; how about you, too fast?
Anyway, the reason I am not willing to be perfect or be called perfect, two situations I have successfully avoided so far, but only barely, is that when you have reached this level of completeness and flawlessness, you have absolutely nowhere to go. You cannot expand or develop any further and wouldn’t that quickly make you predicable to a fault and eventually boring? Yes it would, if you agree or not.
You see, the unpredictability in us Homo sapiens, within legal ramifications, is what makes us charming, exciting and fun to party with – well, most of us, huh? Okay, so this unpredictability can also expose sides not so charming, but at least it is not as utterly boring as perfection would be – do you see what I mean?
But the silly thing is that we still keep trying to improve ourselves and more than often with perfection as a guiding light, a goal we will never reach. I have nothing against any effort made that will help advance our lives, concerning who we are, relationships we are involved in and so forth; I am so totally for that, so if reaching for perfection will get the ball rolling - hallelujah. We are for the most part aiming too high this way – but we are for the most part also smart enough to know that, so it’s okay.
What about the ethical question whether women or men are perfect or should be perfect? Wouldn’t that clash with some kind of super-human form, an image so hard to put together even using our most vivid imagination? And when we finally think we got it right – then what? Again, we have nowhere to go, nowhere to expand beyond. So this super human will quickly go dull and boring, and will never be invited to another party – how sad is that?
Some people find my good friend George Clooney to be a perfect male specimen. I personally see the image of Lara Croft (hot first name, really) in Tomb Raider as being the alpha female body (with no human comparative, of course – yes I know that, duh); but Angelina Jolie did play the part (physically) very fitting…
The small village of Saint Paul de Vence in the South of France lingers in my memory as one of the most perfect spots on earth. So many times with friends and dinners and conversations; lots of laughter and great near-to-perfect moments. A multitude of perfect times with my wife; as a human being she is not perfect, but to me she is so darn close to perfection (and therefor rarely boring).
Our trip to New York City and Washington DC a couple of years ago with our two sons (young adults) was traveling as good as it ever gets; many moments when visiting my Mother in Denmark. When napping with my dog resting on my legs and the cat curled up next to my head; and the list is very long.
These are of course not moments and places of perfect perfection, but on a human scale of reality they are so close that it doesn’t matter how perfect or not that they are or that they were; life doesn’t get much better than any of that – really.
When somebody has finished something or what-not, we round it up with perfect, meaning that the task has been completed, and we all understand that. It doesn’t mean that it can’t get any better, but just acknowledging that it’s okay and/or fine or good job or whatever; the term perfect fits the bill.
We don’t use perfection as much and when we use it, we more so mean close to excellent. But it’s not a completely lost word, as perfection has special meaning in math; it gives a proper name to certain numbers that demonstrate uncommon properties; but you already knew that, huh?
And we have perfect numbers (28 with divisors 14, 7, 4, 2 and 1) –what? We have a perfect flower that just happens to be bi-sexual (which makes dating a piece of cake). Aristotle also told close friends that he saw perfect as in complete, and I agree with him, as I see complete as done as well as can be done – at that time.
We acknowledge the impossibility of reaching perfection ourselves, but that doesn’t hold us back looking at people, images and things that we will and do consider perfect; doesn’t matter if it’s real or imagined (or my favorite: fantasized).
I like the words perfect and perfection. Even after all of the above, they both tell me that we tried our best, and if that reached the summit of excellence or not, that is pretty perfect to me.
As an afterthought: I’m actually okay with you finding me perfect, as long as you don’t find me boring. So perhaps you should call me nobody – because nobody is perfect – there’s an idea, huh?
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