Sometimes it makes me wonder when I see people who are so perfectly happy that they can't remember anything else. And when I see these people, I try to remember the times when I was the same. When life seemed perfect, pristine, and clear. It's hard to remember when now everything is so unclear, and imperfection creeps in every corner of my conscience.
And then I wonder: are these people happy? Are they in a state of perfection? Or is it just me perceiving the perfection everyone so seems to crave. What is perfection? What does it mean to be perfect, to have clarity? What would life be like? I think that it wouldn't be the same, really. Leading imperfect lives, we have something to live for, to strive for. It's really a perfect system, if we play it right.
Some people compare life to a game, others to a journey. To me, life is a drawing. It is ever changing, and never perfect. A drawing is a work in progress until the artist decides that it is finished. But even after "completion" the drawing is never done. There will ever be flaws and imperfections, glitches in the paper, and things about it that could be changed, or erased. The thing about drawings though, is that nothing can ever be completely erased. There is always the essence of the previous line, the mistake ever lingers.
Life is much like this drawing. The erased lines are the things we want to forget, but can't. The drawing will fade in time, as will the early memories of our lives. The hurts will fade, the feelings will pass. But life goes on. The drawing continues until we, the artists, decide it has reached completion. Sometimes in life, this choice is taken from us, and our drawings never get to be completed. So I think we have to draw while we can, and create the beauty while we are still around so that whenever it's our turn to turn over the page, no matter what it looks like, it is a thing of beauty. Never perfect, but beautiful nonetheless.
Maybe the view of perfection in this world is distorted. Maybe perfection lies in the crooked lines and smudges on the page. The truly beautiful is always flawed.
And then I wonder: are these people happy? Are they in a state of perfection? Or is it just me perceiving the perfection everyone so seems to crave. What is perfection? What does it mean to be perfect, to have clarity? What would life be like? I think that it wouldn't be the same, really. Leading imperfect lives, we have something to live for, to strive for. It's really a perfect system, if we play it right.
Some people compare life to a game, others to a journey. To me, life is a drawing. It is ever changing, and never perfect. A drawing is a work in progress until the artist decides that it is finished. But even after "completion" the drawing is never done. There will ever be flaws and imperfections, glitches in the paper, and things about it that could be changed, or erased. The thing about drawings though, is that nothing can ever be completely erased. There is always the essence of the previous line, the mistake ever lingers.
Life is much like this drawing. The erased lines are the things we want to forget, but can't. The drawing will fade in time, as will the early memories of our lives. The hurts will fade, the feelings will pass. But life goes on. The drawing continues until we, the artists, decide it has reached completion. Sometimes in life, this choice is taken from us, and our drawings never get to be completed. So I think we have to draw while we can, and create the beauty while we are still around so that whenever it's our turn to turn over the page, no matter what it looks like, it is a thing of beauty. Never perfect, but beautiful nonetheless.
Maybe the view of perfection in this world is distorted. Maybe perfection lies in the crooked lines and smudges on the page. The truly beautiful is always flawed.
