I do imperfection very well. Maybe being human contributes to that ability to be imperfect. With that being said, I don’t find it being a shortcoming. This morning I sprang out of bed, hair sticking up everywhere and promptly tripping over the cat bleary eyed as I didn’t hear my alarm. What I was greeted with was my son, Bailey, who managed to get himself up, dressed, and was fixing breakfast as I bounded down the hall. He looked at me and smiled. I was able to laugh at myself.
Laughter allows me to better accept that I am not perfect. I screw up. The beauty is that I can accept, laugh, and even learn something through my many imperfect tendencies. I think being perfect would be boring and frankly, I am too colorful for that.