Ours Is Not To Be Perfect

Every whole is made up of nothing more than the sum of its many parts.  To take away even the tiniest thing - be it a secret or a fear, a fret or a single cell of fat - would leave you with something less than what was.  Or even what could be.  The promise of a whole becomes a painting - nearly complete - now stashed away behind a pile of miscellany in some unknown artist's loft.  A song without a chorus.  Shallow and incomplete.

Suffice it to say that to be whole is absolutely not akin to being perfect; for there are boundless imperfections to be found in all manner of pretty things.  Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper - as it has been handed down through the years - is all but weathered and ruined.  Yet people from all over the world travel great distances to stand in a room and simply gaze upon it.  Marvel at it.  The truth herein is undeniable.  The sum of its parts.  Rife with imperfections.  Remains whole.  Cherished and complete.

By this design, there is a certain beauty that comes with imperfection that can be lost as we seek to replace character and depth with prime and polish.  Ask any Star Wars fan whether they prefer the original theatrical trilogy to its 'Special Edition' re-release that came about in 1997, and you'll undoubtedly hear the truth.  Ask anyone fortunate enough to observe Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam as it graced the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel before its refinement was commissioned in 1979, and again you'll likely hear the truth.

The application of this truth is perhaps best suited to self image.  Every day, many of us race toward perfection at a pace that all but completely drains us.  Some of us toil ceaselessly to reach nigh unattainable goals, while others simply buckle under the pressure and lose their lust for life.  The ripples created in the process at times become like tidal waves, breaking unexpectedly over connections far removed from the source of the struggle.  A struggle which often lies within.  Shakespeare himself could not have written a greater tragedy.

I feel like I ought to close this entry by clarifying that I do NOT feel as though all attempts at self improvement are without merit.  Rather, what I hope to leave you with is that perhaps it wouldn't hurt to stop and listen to what our audience has to say about whether or not we should pursue these things so fervently.  We should ever remember the lesson brought to us by George Lucas (and the far more obscure Gianluigi Colalucci): sometimes we deliver a package that brings the world to its knees.  To take it away, change it dramatically, and attempt to redeliver it is not always likely to produce the same feelings or emotions solicited by the original.  Perhaps to be perfect is to be imperfect.