Today, I read this post from Jamie Catto on the Intimacy of Imperfection and felt as if I had been set free.
Catto suggests that it's not imperfection that is unattractive to others but the shame that comes from these imperfections.
These past few weeks (months? years? lifetimes?), I have struggled with, obsessed over, the idea of perfection. Most recently, I've been overly concerned about it in the online space. I've felt as if I have to constantly revise myself. Every sentence, every word. I've been very worried that the 'me' I'm presenting to the world is not the right kind of me. With this blog, my twitter and Facebook and email accounts, I have been given too many opportunities to delete, edit, and second-guess.
How refreshing to step back, to understand that it's not the 'terrible' me I have to hide (for I am quite terrible) but the fear behind it that I have to shed.
So, I'll start small. I'll start with a photograph on this (not-so) Wordless Wednesday. There I was at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens with my point and shoot camera, pretending to be a photographer, trying to capture this dragonfly. There I was, whining to myself that I did not have a good enough camera with an expensive lens, that I did not have an art background, years of photography classes, or even a basic knowledge of light. There I was, crabby and pissed and stubborn but determined to take a picture of these delicate wings.
And what happened when I, finally, after snapping two hundred photos, captured that dragonfly in the right position, without it being blurred or shadowed or obstructed or just plain bad?
There was a freaking sign in the background.
To imperfection. I start here.