Blog #123--Planned Imperfection
- Jack Tuttle
- Dec 24, 2015
- 3 min read
My mother was a perfectionist. She had a strong opinion as to how things should work, and she fought against anyone or anything that interfered with her vision. Unfortunately, she was repeatedly repulsed in her efforts to create perfection. Watching her over the years was a good lesson for me in how not to approach life’s imperfections.
For instance, she would take her cars into the shop for repairs every time she heard an unusual noise or experienced inconsistency in their performance. She wasn’t extremely knowledgeable about how cars function, but she was persistent in her desire to repair every imperfection. Repair technicians sometimes found nothing fixable but charged her excessively for work not done. They often took advantage of her naivete, but she trusted them implicitly and continued her quest.
Unfortunately, as soon as one minor issue was repaired, another problem cropped up. After awhile, it became obvious to me that she would never have a perfect vehicle. Something had to be wrong at all times. It seemed that trying to correct every insignificant problem guaranteed another problem.
I didn’t really understand what was happening until I experienced the explosion of awareness that led me ultimately to writing the book “It’s a Secret, So Pass It On: a Toolbox For Life.” During that series of revelations, I learned that every rule of three-dimensional existence has an exception. Real perfection is a balance between opposite energies; both opposites must be present at all times for Nature to remain in balance. We may want our own definitions of perfection to exist at all times, but those definitions are usually based on a one-sided, incomplete perspective that needs its opposite for real truth to emerge. Nature will create an opposite if none exists.
If we apply this concept to my mother’s cars, we realize that she might have been better off allowing one or two imperfect situations to exist. That way, perhaps fewer additional problems would have arisen. I am not trying to say we can learn to control Nature for our individual purposes. But it seems logical that we have a better chance of keeping a car running longer if we accept a few things that are less than perfect. Obviously, some problems require repair regardless, but minor issues might be candidates for intentional neglect (i.e. acceptance).
I applied this concept to my cars over the years, and my observations seemed to be confirmed. Certainly, it is a small sample size and may not represent everyone’s situation accurately. But allowing imperfection to exist didn’t reduce function significantly. In fact, one car lasted 17 years with few problems. The radio antenna had been broken by a low-hanging tree limb, but I didn’t have it fixed. Other than some excessive oil burning the last couple years, the car ran magnificently and continued to get 40 miles per gallon of gasoline the entire time. Another car lasted 11 years and over 100,000 miles until an accident forced a replacement.
Native Americans who create new versions of their ancestors’ tools, clothing and weapons purposely leave something imperfect or unfinished. This is done to mimic Nature and perpetuate a balance while ostensibly preventing future problems. They may make a beautiful beadwork design that takes many hours to complete. But somewhere hidden within the design, perhaps imperceptible to the untrained eye, is some small imperfection. A majority of Native Americans have been in balance with Nature throughout most of their existence. Planned imperfection is one of the tools of their trade.
Of course, an increasing number of corporations are now planning for early obsolescence in the items they produce so they can sell more replacements and/or expensive warranty insurance. This is not the same process. They want a major imperfection to remain hidden until warranties run out and then show themselves. This is the result of greed, not an attempt to mimic Nature. They may make more short-term profit, but eventually their customers will learn to distrust them and look elsewhere for similar but longer-lasting products.
There is nothing wrong with setting ultimate goals. Those of us who pride ourselves on good work can come amazingly close to perfection at times. But if a problem arises that we cannot correct, unless it reduces function there may be nothing wrong with letting it remain imperfect. At least, we shouldn’t be critical of our inability to be perfect. After all, a small imperfection might be the key to our best results.
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