I like things that are wrinkly. They add dimension, interest, and uniqueness to all that is around us. I realize that many in our society prefer things to be neat and tidy — without wrinkles or imperfections. Many like things to be smooth and devoid of any blemishes and this often constitutes beauty and perfection.
Why are we obsessed with perfection? Why does this matter? And who the hell came up with the standards?
I can assume it is due in large part to comparison, scarcity, and a fear we’ll never be good enough.
And that was me for many years. On the one hand, I was intrigued and drawn to nature’s imperfections: the gnarly arbutus tree, the misshapen potato, and homemade paper; and frankly, those imperfections were allowed and appreciated. Whereas for me, I had high expectations of myself to be perfect — in everything, or don’t even try. Perfection at all costs.
I was so afraid of making a mistake that I landed up missing out on so many opportunities and adventures. I had created a life of unrealistic expectations that was unattainable and it came at a cost.
I believed that if I reached those high levels of perfection, then I would be accepted, loved, and be okay. But every time I reached a goal or did something “perfectly”, it was never good enough and the inner critic would berate me and demand better next time.
This left me trapped in a cycle of overachieving and punishment — a life that left me full of grief, pain, and unnecessary suffering.
I find that wrinkles tell a story. A story of growth and life experience. A tomato grown in the backyard garden may be misshapen and deformed compared to the hothouse variety, and yet, it has a more interesting story. It may have struggled with not getting enough sunlight, or bugs may have infested it while it was still in the flowering phase, or maybe it was over watered. Either way, it survived and grew into a tomato to be enjoyed, savored, and appreciated.
Have you noticed how the wrinkles on your body tell your life’s story?
You may have experienced trauma, great pain and loss, success and growth, and a whole host of other adventures, and each one of them is evidence that you are alive and living life.
A couple years ago, one of my kids commented on my stretch marks and asked about them. I mentioned that they were part of my birthing story. My body needed to stretch and grow in order to carry and deliver babies.
She responded by telling me she thought they were beautiful. That was not what I had expected, and yet so grateful for her honest, nonjudgmental response. If we could all be so innocent and child-like in our view of the world and humanity.
I am getting older and my skin is not as young and supple as it once was. Wrinkles are evident and I’m okay with that. I am learning to embrace all aspects of who I am, including my wrinkles. They too are a part of my story and I’m no longer interested in fighting nature’s way. This is me … wrinkles and all.
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