We've Gotten Very Good at Very Many Things (For Roman)

Today, a day off from work because of illness, I experienced many different perfect things. My DVR perfectly recorded Mad Men, a perfect show. My car worked perfectly as I drove it to Red Apple, which perfectl stocks its fruits. The soup I bought there was perfectly warm and delicious. My iPhone permitted me to perfectly text my girlfriend, "How's your day, GF? Just sitting here. Feeling better. 85%. Love you."

I expect--We expect--perfection now. We've come to expect that whoever made this (and this can be this app or this fettuccine carbonara or this story) has tested it and revised it and audience-tested it enough times so that it has no hint of imperfection, not even a whiff of amateurishness. It's without flaw, and we can very very quickly enjoy it, maybe comment on it, take a photo, rate it, digest it, and move onto the next perfect thing.

We've also come to expect imperfection in things: public bus service, our elected officials, a classroom lesson plan, health care, a rental home, a conversation with a minimart clerk, the acts of poor people, and the acts of family.

Most of us, the Committed, have deemed the perfect desirable and the imperfect undesirable. Moreover, we've gotten so accustomed to perfection, we've almost no idea how to deal with things when they don't work out perfectly, save by abandoning them. I've abandoned articles, movies, friendships, and jobs due to imperfection.

It's perfection or nothing now, and now a problem is no longer a problem, it's a threat to perfection. Disagreement, hesitancy, dissent, protest by people that smell funny, random silliness, a dull moment, mispronunciations, fuck-ups. All these now can ruin a conversation with a stranger, an amiable discussion with colleagues, a decent film, a loving relationship, joy, comfort, and political discourse.

I wonder how many current roadblocks in our lives stem not from inflexible stubbornness on the part of our media and/or interlocutors, but from our collective expectation that everything be perfect, that this negotiation or this relationship or this whatever goes off without one single hitch. I wonder how many roadblocks furthermore stem from our collective inability to deal with even a moment of awkwardness or emotional vulnerability or imperfect execution.

One could bring up the human warmth one instantly feels in people from Nicaragua, Ethiopia, and Laos, places where imperfection is the modus operandi; one could bring up the pure emotion one sees in American photos during times when they're seemed to be less law; one could bring up the beauty of children's murals; one could bring up doctrines of Christianity and Greek democracy. Each of these would help to illustrate that messiness and human fragility and imperfection are required of authentic personal and societal cohesion and growth.

However, I would like to bring up a less-ambitious example that I found in a cabin in the Cascades. It is a self-published book entitled They Found a Valley: A History of Plain, Washington by Alpha Burgess Buntain. Here are two passages:

The afternoon shadows were lengthening as the newly married young couple, Will and Elizabeth Burgess, brouth their teams and loaded wagon to a halt. They were at the summit of the pass which cut through the 2300 foot elevation, known as Beaver Hill, and spread before them was the snug little valley, which was to become their earthly "paradise." What were their thoughts as together they surveyed the place which was to be their home for many years to come?

Dad did not have as many food favorites as our mother did, but a big chunk of cheddar cheese always came out of the grocery box. Peanuts, and oranges were things that he especially liked also. Oranges were a real treat for all of us and were relished to the last drop of juice. Dad bought the peanuts in large burlap bags and roasted them in the oven. Not in the sacks though. [End of chapter]

The writing is not perfect--the narrative is bare. Why is there a comma after "peanuts"? Couldn't the author give us some more imagery? That's the ending of the chapter?!--but it's lovely to read for its imperfection, its humility, its frankness, its typeset. This is earnest work, not ironic work. As I read this little book, I thought about the importance of just telling your story, forget for a moment your voice. I thought of the importance of documenting with love. I thought about substance over style. I thought of, yes, the importance of being earnest.

One finds meaning in perfect meals and perfect novels, perfect sculptures and perfect dates, but one also finds meaning (maybe even more) in the imperfect: a high school baseball game, a day without cellphone reception, an argument with a loved one, a flat tire, a point of contention, a good but not perfect story about the history of your good but not perfect life.

In these "surprises," perhaps we can find humility and connection. Perhaps we can find humor and common ground. Perhaps we can begin to view imperfection as something other than undesirable, and perhaps we can see it as not as an interruption to the norm, but as the very norm itself.