While taking the train into the city the other day I had a revelation. Now, It wasn’t necessarily a novel thought that I had never had before, but was rather something that I hadn’t consciously taken in before.

Holding an open book in my left hand, I peered outside through the slightly tinted window of the train car. The train had stopped momentarily, shifting my focus from my book, to the presently still world outside. While taking this little break from my studies, I noticed the charming chimney of a house that stood just over the train tracks. It was white, but not a pure, perfect white. It was chipped, and dirty. It was also crooked, and anything but symmetrical. Some might have said it was flawed. I say It was beautiful, and it was so because of, not in spite of these so called “flaws.”

Similarly, looking back, my mom has always shown me textiles and other beautiful fabrics, always awesomely pointing out the mismatched stitching where someone had patched a hole, or mended a tear. See, in these obvious breaks from the piece’s previous perfection, she saw beauty in the caring energy that went into every repairing stitch.

Imperfection is human. It’s natural. Mistakes, discrepancies, and the like are unavoidable no matter how hard one may try to evade them.

I once saw an episode of Bewitched wherein Samantha’s cousin, Serena, wanted a man she thought to be a mortal to fall in love with her. So, she made a point of being slightly clumsy, imperfect, and, well, human. This was meant to come off as charming, I suppose. It's how she intended to win his heart. You see, as a witch, she was flawless, perfect, but to come off as a "mere mortal,” she had to embrace human imperfection, and only then would she be able to catch her beloved's eye.

I have often found myself getting caught up in trying to be perfect, like the immortal witch that Serena was; to write perfectly, to sing perfectly, look perfect, etc. This, however, is incredibly constraining, and, frankly, is completely unnatural. I’m human. We're all human (unless there’s something I don’t know). We're not perfect, but we're all beautiful. I aspire to personify that chipped, crooked chimney, and to live the life of a well loved tapestry; torn, and patched back together again and again as relationships come and go, every stitch merely adding to my beauty, to the depth of myself as a human, and to the levels of my emotions, my smiles, my tears.

Beauty lies in imperfection. This is the truth that seemed to really sink in for me that day on the train, looking out through that slightly tainted window at that incredible, crooked, white chimney.

I’d now like to invite you to join me in looking at the world through a new lens, one conscious, and appreciative of all of the perfect imperfections in the world. There is an Indian fable highlighting this beauty that lies in imperfection that goes as follows:

A water-bearer in India had two large pots, both hung on ends of a pole, which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot always arrived half full.

The poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water-bearer one day by the stream:

'I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts.'

The bearer said to the pot, 'Did you notice that there are flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house' (helloinspira.com, Our Favorite(s) Lately: Imperfection, An Indian Fable).

Meditate on this, and share your thoughts.