Nobody’s Perfect …

“I’ll do better,” she says, when I point out a little something that may be off the mark — a little something she missed on her journey to “being a better person.”

“You’re already perfect,” I respond.  In fact, we are are all exactly where we’re meant to be in life.  Seen from that perspective, we’re all perfect.

But if you continue to doubt … if you continue to believe that your imperfections are things that must be fixed, then the same holds true for everybody else — especially those who criticize you the most and try to mold you into the person they think you should be — the person who may be the polar opposite of who you want to become.

Is it any wonder you reject all attempts to “fix you?”

That’s not to say we should be lazy on our quest to being the best we can be. Being perfect right here, right now, is not a license to let yourself go physically, mentally, emotionally, or especially — spiritually.

We should always consider whatever perceptions others have of us, but we must also take those perceptions with a every grain of salt left behind if the oceans were to evaporate.

People don’t always have the best intentions when they criticize us.  Those who criticize the most and the loudest are those who deflect what they feel is wrong with them and turn it outward towards others.

If you could hear their internal conversation with themselves, it would go something like this …

“I know I have to work on this, but it’s too hard, so I’ll shove it at you so you can work on it.  That takes the pressure off me and makes you uncomfortable.  And making you uncomfortable means you share my misery.”

One of the least compassionate people I know once told me I should be more compassionate.  Perhaps she’s right.  I should be more compassionate towards her inability to see how little compassion she has towards others.

Love your critics and know that the imperfections of which they criticize you are the ones they struggle with the most in themselves — the ones that keep them unhappy and unfulfilled.

But if you insist on measuring perfection on an ideal which you have yet to become, then indeed … nobody’s perfect.

Except you …

… for me.

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