Symmetry and the Siren's Call

What if we got what we really wanted? What if perfection were attainable to a universal standard? What if there was one correct and perfect way to decorate your home, dress, raise your children, behave in a marriage, cook a meal, paint a portrait, write a story, breathe? And what if you managed to meet all of those demands, standing high above on the pedestal of perfection, what then?
Millenia ago we, as a human race, constructed a concept of “perfection.” We created a standard for existence by which to measure one another’s success and failures; actually, more for measuring failures. We all bought into the myth that if one worked hard enough, practiced long enough, spent enough money, gave or sacrificed “enough,” then somehow we would become the absolute best human being possible. We collectively decided on the standard for “perfection” and have been grasping for or racing after it ever since.
Or have we?
Could it be that our supposed lust for perfection is, in fact, the biggest shell game in human history? Could it be the best example of herd mentality that ever existed?
Stop for a moment to clearly define, “perfection.” What does it mean? What are the standards for perfection? Go ahead. List them in your mind or visualize a person you think best exemplifies perfection.
Do you actually agree with that idea of perfection? What about that person isn’t perfect? What must be sacrificed in the name of these standards of perfection?
Now, the essential question, “Who handed you those standards?” Another way to say this might be, “Whom did you allow to define perfection for you?” Spend some time considering these questions and be critical. Do you agree with these definitions? Our understanding of perfection seeps into our psyche without our being much aware to its arrival and formation. We see others point to a person and say, “She’s beautiful,” or point to a work of art and say, “”That is absolutely brilliant.” Step back for a moment and consider whether or not you agree with their assessment.
Think for a moment about the people and things you appreciate and admire. What do you find truly perfect? What is perfection for you in your life?
I’m in love with the August 27, 2018, cover of Time magazine. On it, tennis legend Serena Williams stands boldly, confidently, and comfortably behind a quote from her interview that reads, “Nothing about me right now is perfect. But I’m perfectly Serena.”
I think she and this cover are perfectly wonderful.
We say we want perfection and symmetry but, the truth is, we don’t. Not deep down. In fact, truly perfect and symmetrical things disturb us. In Madeleine L’Engle’s Wrinkle in Time, it is the perfect synchronicity of the children’s bouncing balls that clues the reader into the evil that rules the world of IT. The mothers call the children in perfect time to come into their perfect homes for, an assumedly, perfect dinner. Our instincts tell us there is something profoundly wrong with actualized perfection.
We claim to want perfection but also criticize individuals who appear to be perfect, saying they are “fake.” Truthfully, we crave asymmetry and imperfections because they testify to authenticity and integrity. We may place seemingly perfect people on a pedestal but it is the survivor we seek when we need someone to trust, someone who bears her battle scars with pride and who isn’t afraid to show her wounds. Fundamentally we need people who have lived to tell the tale, who are relatable and genuine. In other words, we want to admire people who are perfect but need people who are, instead, just like us in their imperfections and weaknesses.
Serena defiantly declaring the power of her imperfection seems to be essential and necessary medicine for a culture that has grown sick on its airbrushed and photoshopped regular diet. For the sake of our collective health, we need a dose reality as a seemingly perfect specimen of a woman and an athlete standing before the world - one quick to criticize her body, her blackness, her confidence, and her charisma - claiming her generally accepted imperfection in favor of a perfection that is more personal, more honest, and more real.
T. S. Eliot gives us a character who is paralyzed by his imperfections and his lack of confidence in the poem “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” The character can’t move beyond “watching with women come and go,” because he has played out every scenario in his mind and has predetermined he is doomed to fail. Pitifully, he decides he is too insignificant even to star in the drama of his own life, relegating his role to
an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
Friends, let us not play the fool in our own lives. Let us not believe the immense corpus of perfection mythology and, instead, dare ourselves into lives of asymmetry, one’s full of life and imperfection. In doing so, we will be perfectly ourselves, enjoying days basking in authenticity.