One Saturday morning a few years ago, I heard my daughter crying in the living room. I went to see what had happened and found her sitting on the rug, drawing on the long antique coffee table I loved. She had pressed her pen so hard on the paper that she had accidentally carved her name into the wood and was afraid she would be in trouble.
I have been a traveller most of my adult life and have lived in many different places, so I have never owned much furniture. This coffee table is made from an old Japanese door and though it's simple, it is a beautiful to me. My daughter's accidental carving was the first mark on the table after it came to live with us. I told her it was okay, it was just an accident. As I examined the scratches I realized the table had just become a treasure I would never want to part with because she had marked it.
I don't want to blog you over the head here, but why is it so easy to miss the beauty of imperfection in our mistakes, our faces, failures, or best attempts? It could be because we need to cut some of those negative tape loops in our heads and let them go. Or it could be that we are surrounded by really weird versions of perfection.
Some futurists predict that actors will be replaced by bots. I understand drones and cars that will drive themselves, eliminating the need for pilots and drivers. I also understand other professions going the way of the machine--but movie actors? Sure. They can be animated and perfected by someone's idea of better-than-human... like most ad images are now.
I just wanted to remind you that there is an imperfect human behind that version of perfect you don't measure up to... Even if it's your own self. The table is better with the scratches.