sand arch

Imperfect perfect

Our neighbor, Hank, invited us to take a walk on the beach with him and, of course!, we said yes! Everything about the day was perfect! The skies were a gorgeous, clear blue. Perfect. The ocean was that rich, deep blue spotted with white-tipped waves. Perfect. The sun was warm. It was almost too warm, except for the off-shore breezes that kept everything… well, perfect!

I took my camera, being prepared to capture all this perfection. In love with the beauty, I snapped away. Portions of me that would be lost otherwise, are always returned to me when I spend time next to the sea. I breathed deeply the fresh air. I enjoyed the meandering and peaceful conversations with Amira and Hank. I exchanged smiles with those who passed by. Perfect!

I got home and dropped my memory card into the laptop slot. WHAT? What I saw in the thumbnails was imperfect. Utterly disappointed, my stomach sank. I despaired the loss of photographic memory of the perfect day. Until that is, I saw these photos.

Then, then I knew, I had imperfect perfect. I’m so happy for experiences like this that remind me not to hang too tightly to ideas and and ideals of perfection. There’s nothing wrong, per se, with perfection. It’s just that it is such an unpredictable, moving and imprecise way way to judge the world. These photos of my beloved girl… are perfect. Well, imperfect perfect. I’m grateful for these reminders.

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