I was talking to a friend last night who was having a bit of trouble coping with some of the struggles she was going through in her life. I know the feeling of what she is going through, it is pure misery. One of those things that you can't really comfort somebody about, except to be there for them.
While we were talking, I put into words a view of life that I've had for a while. I just hadn't taken the time to articulate it. It started out with my stuff. I don't have a lot of stuff. In fact, I'd go so far as to say I have very little compared to most people. Those things I do have, however, are costly, handmade and unique.
Naturally, she was lost as to where I was going with this, and I wasn't sure either until I really thought about it. I like the things I have because they're unique. Created by a real person with a real purpose. They have great value to me as well as those who created them. And I see a wonderful comparison between the process it took to make them and the process it is taking to make me.
When someone sets about to attain perfection for their art, hardware or whatever it may be, it is not simply "done." It takes a long, long time. Hundreds, thousands of mistakes and each time the blueprint is scoured and improved. Finally something perfect is created. And even if a sword has a discoloration from tempering or a table has a mar in the wood, these small imperfections do not make them any less finished or beautiful.
I believe that we, as people, are created in this fashion. We start out with an idea of who we want to be and we behave and react accordingly. Experience befalls us in the form of a relationship or a job or an adventure and we break down, only to build ourselves up again. We refine ourselves and others into something much more beautiful, unique and complete. Small blemishes may exist on our surface, be it scars or minor prejudices or crass speech, but they serve only to attest to what we have been through in the process. As a sculpture has a chip in the marble from years of wear, a soldier may have death on his hands from months of war, a grandfather a grimace on his face from decades of hard work.
But we, as humans, in all of our blemishes and refinements, are perfect.
Also, something to think about:
The tallest, strongest, most beautiful trees
have weathered the most storms.
