Maybe self-improvement isn’t what we need. I am happy to look at my face in the mirror, early in the morning, and admire its blemishes and faults. Perfection is over rated. I know I am not perfect and I don’t mind. The world won’t stop turning just because I don’t have a square set jaw, trimmed silky hair and dashing azure eyes. Perfection is boring. Nothing is static, everything is falling apart: even the Mona Lisa and Brittany Spears are falling apart before our eyes.
It’s not enough to get the latest Ford and golf clubs, nor the trendy New York knock-offs of Parisian fashions. Perfection is nothingness, to be perfect is to be hollow, a façade if you will. When I look into the mirror I see my face, not the latest Calvin Klein model nor the cover of MaximMagazine. I see the ebony crescent moons hanging underneath each eye from where I stayed up writing poetry, combating insomnia. I see cuts and scars from fights, and razor burn and acne. I see love bites left by my girlfriend. Each one of these imperfections makes me happy; it lets me feel alive so I feel like I haven’t wasted my life sitting on an ivory tower. I have scratchy red eyes and a smile on my face. We don’t need 60-second juicers and 5-week diet pills, we all don’t need the same 5-mile per gallon Ford SUV’s and we don’t need Chuck Norris telling us to buy his gym equipment (or else he’ll crush our head in between his thighs of steel). And I definitely know that we don’t need to buy ‘all natural male enhancement’, or hair growth formulas.
I know what we don’t need, but I am not about to start preaching what “I think” ‘you’ need. ‘You’ (yes you) need to decide what your heart yearns for. Mine yearns for the imperfection and happiness of my life; the blemishes, love bites and faults: the cracks in my skin. I love my writing, and I am still developing my own style and voice. I’m so volatile at the age of 17. I don’t know exactly what I believe in, and I am being influenced and led on by other forces. I just want to grow up, and be myself.
Maybe self-improvement isn’t what we need: maybe we need a little self-destruction and a little bit of madness to keep things in perspective. Some chaos and imperfection to keep us alert so we never fall prey to the hollow beast of perfection and instead revel in the natural bliss of imperfection. This I believe, I think.
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