Perfection

Sometimes it's hard not to think about perfection. Not to strive for it.

I was 7 years old when Mary Lou Retton got her perfect 10s. I managed to maintain a 100% in 8th grade math for an entire quarter. Perfection was always a goal, the best you could possibly do.

And then I became a mom.

I don't bother with perfection anymore, because it isn't always about that. My definition of perfection has expanded exponentially in the last few years; life is a much happier thing when I'm not caught up in the perfect of the moments, and instead enjoy them as they come.

My Grammy used to make a big turkey dinner every summer when my sister and I would visit; turkey and mashed potatoes and cranberry, when it was 90 degrees outside in August. I remember the dinners. If I really concentrate, I remember the time that the paper bag she would cover the turkey with (in the oven, mind you) caught fire because she hadn't buttered it enough. The smoke alarm and panic could have ruined what is one of my most beloved memories of Grammy and Grampy's house. It could have been “almost perfect.”

Technically speaking, a lot of people talk about their photography in terms of “correctness,” if the image is under or overexposed, of achieving “tack sharp” focus… but again, a technically perfect image isn't necessarily the best one.

It's grainy and underexposed. And the first moments of Lydia's life. It's perfect.

How do you embrace the perfect imperfections in your life? Is it something you struggle with, or does it come easily to you? I'd love to hear about your favorite perfectly imperfect memories!