Perfection to me often represents a static state. It is the pinnacle, the top, the ultimate goal. There is no movement in this sense of perfection. It is a ten. Once attained, then what? Another attempt at the perfect score, the perfect performance, the perfect note?
I’d rather not define perfection as a static goal, but as the process of obtaining that goal. My experience is that by doing so, the journey becomes my joy, offering so much more diversity and spontaneity than the little, possibly unachievable, pinnacle at the top. The sense of passion, wonder, awe, or simple attentiveness that I feel when I pursue my greatest loves are my driving forces, not one moment of perfection.
I think of my writing. There are days it feels stuck and gooey, and other days it flies. But a child finds wonder in both a mud pie and a dragonfly. Why should it be any different for an adult?
My best days are when I don’t think of the results, when I’m not concerned about completion as defined by the one perfect way. It’s when I’m in the moment, tending to my creative garden, pulling weeds or planting seeds, that I sense the beauty of accomplishment as it is defined not by the end product, but by action. That sense of wonder, often disguised in something as banal as the effort to find the right word, is a gift. It’s the exploration into possibility.
Possibility. It sounds open-ended, full of hope, as compared to perfection, which to me at this moment, seems limited. Or out of reach. Possibility, on the other hand, seems boundless.
It isn’t unusual when I coach my clients in movement that they strive to “get it right,” whether to please me, cure themselves of pain, or simply get me to stop talking. However, my goal is to encourage them to go beyond the static rightness of what should be and play with what can be. I want them to explore, to get in touch with their bodies and find out what is possible.
Sure, with my training and study, I can make educated guesses about where the kinks are, where the possible causes for pain might be hidden, or wow my clients with names of muscles and fancy words. But like perfection, such descriptions and words would be static, snapshots of a moment that limit a dynamic life into a moment in time. And I don’t want that for my clients. I want to teach them to discover what works for them, their unique bodies, their individuality. I want my guidance and suggestions to be doors to boundless options in their box of life tools, not edicts about how to behave in certain circumstances.
Life is about flow and adaptability. If I can teach my clients to trust in that and their own perceptions as experienced in their bodies, then their potential can be unbounded by perfection and move into the divine.
Debbie,
There is so much good in what you have said here, so much about which one could comment.
In all of my own work (as a writer, editor, and shaman–among other things), I, too, have found that perfection is in the process, in the act of being in the moment with life. That it is in the moment means that it changes as it flows.
What is possible is sometimes a taking in and sometimes a letting go. That is often forgotten in a society that often equates good with growth and growth with acquiring. Sometimes growth is letting go! Often it includes surrender.
Your work exemplifies that, it seems to me.
By: Melanie M on August 13, 2008
at 10:14 pm
I wish someone had said this to me when I started doing yoga and seeing a massage therapist to bring some balance to my slightly crooked back. I was certainly seeking out that perfect 10. It took me a few years (and some frustration) to figure it out on my own. Thanks for the insightful post!
By: Jenn on August 14, 2008
at 3:43 pm