Embracing Imperfections: Finding the Blessings in the Messes

Image by Boyan Minchev from Pixabay (altered in Canva)

“Imperfection inspires invention, imagination, creativity. It stimulates. The more I feel imperfect, the more I feel alive.”― Jhumpa Lahiri

Recently, I was listening to someone talking about wedding plans. She has a zillion things on her list for this massive event that will require a ridiculous amount of money and she’s coming unhinged about the idea that anything could go wrong. What if the ring bearer trips and sends the wedding bands rolling across the church floor? What if the caterer has a bad day and the meal isn’t very good? Dear Lord, what if he runs out of food??!

And what if Aunt Mary from Wherever won’t be able to make it because of her arthritis flare-ups? I mean, she just can’t do this without Aunt Mary!!!!

She’s stressing about the flowers being perfect, and about whether the cake top is the right one and if the music will be any good and and and …

The list goes on and on.

I didn’t hear anything remotely resembling happiness about this period of her life, when it should be exciting and joyful beyond measure. Rather than focusing on the love she and her partner share and the fact that they want to create a beautiful marriage that’ll last a lifetime, she’s dumping all her thoughts and energy into creating a “perfect wedding.”

Well … the more plans she puts on that list, the more potential there is for things to go wrong. And the more expectations for perfection she puts on that list, the harder the slam on the pavement if any little thing goes wrong.

And at the end of the day, isn’t it supposed to be about the marriage, not the wedding?

I remember a time when I’d planned a big family event for the late summer. We were celebrating something extra special and everyone was looking forward to sharing in the excitement. I wanted it to be fairly simple but nice, and of course had various plans to make it a lovely experience. The party would be in the garden, and in the later evening we would enjoy the ambiance with fairy lights and lanterns. And I’d had several requests for my “made from scratch” lasagna, and I was only too happy to oblige.

The day rolled around. The garden was decorated and extra chairs had been set up outside. Fairy lights and lanterns were in place. Guests arrived in the late afternoon, drinks were served, and the delightful sound of conversation and laughter drifted through the garden and into the house through the open windows.

According to the forecast that morning, it would be a sunny day through to the evening, but as we were drinking and chatting, clouds began rolling in. The updated forecast still didn’t mention rain so I trusted — hoped?! — it was correct. I had a lot of guests and we’d have been more cramped than sardines if we’d had to be indoors.

I crossed my fingers and kept glancing skyward, giving those “iffy” clouds the stink-eye.

At the appropriate time, I pulled the giant pan of lasagna out of the fridge and popped it into the oven. After setting it to the correct temperature and double-checking the oven was on, I headed back outside to my guests.

When the timer went off to indicate that the lasagna was ready, I discovered the oven was off. As in, stone cold. No heat. None at all. It was still set to the temperature I’d chosen, so something was definitely wrong and would require repair.

And I had a garden full of hungry guests. Some of them having gone on at length about how they couldn’t wait for my “fabulous lasagna” that was “to die for” (I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to eat anything with that idea in the mix!).

Anyway, while I was mucking about with the oven and trying to figure out what was wrong, all of a sudden, people rushed inside from the garden, carrying chairs and drinks and snacks. Just as I poked my head out of the kitchen to ask what was going on, I heard a great crack of thunder.

Apparently, the clouds had ignored my dirty looks — or perhaps were retaliating for them — and a sudden downpour had sent everyone scurrying inside.

Until then, the day had been perfect. Everything had gone beautifully. And in a matter of moments, suddenly we were well crammed into every nook and cranny of my home. And I had no dinner to serve. Salad. Nibbles. Buns. That sort of thing. But nothing substantial for a large crowd.

I could have let this ruin my day — and then let my ruined day ruin everyone else’s day, too.

Instead, we laughed about all of it and voted for pizza delivery.

So the day wasn’t perfect. We didn’t get the lasagna (and yay, no one had to die for it. Dumbest expression ever!). We didn’t get to enjoy the garden that afternoon, and then into the evening with fairy lights and lanterns. But I lit a fire in the fireplace and candles on the mantle. We created a beautiful ambiance in my cosy home and thoroughly enjoyed the pizza, the company, and the fact that we could all be together to celebrate a family event.

We even enjoyed the cramped conditions, with people sitting on the floor or planting lawn chairs wherever they could fit.

Sometimes, it’s the imperfections that make life real. “Perfect” doesn’t leave room for character and charm and funny memories about those “Oh, dear!” moments. More often than not, those imperfect, messy moments are the ones we cherish the most.