Humans strive for perfection. There is a certain pride in achieving the pinnacle in anything. It gives us meaning in a world that can often feel devoid of it.
However, if I were to describe something as feeling "human", it wouldn't be... that. When I think of things that feel "human", I think of:
- the squeaks of an acoustic guitar.
- that song that everyone hates, but you secretly like.
- a mother who loves her child, despite all their shortcomings.
Perfect may be the goal, but all the charm is in imperfection.
So, when I scroll past LinkedIn™ post after LinkedIn™ post, all perfectly written, where if I were to cover the author, I couldn't, for the life of me, be able to tell who wrote it, a little part of me is disappointed.
I have always been envious of people who are great orators or great writers. Whenever I have an interesting thought, I seldom have the finesse to articulate it well. At least with writing, I can take my time. When I started journaling years ago, I would rewrite over and over again - crossing out words, rephrasing entire paragraphs - frustrated at my inability to organize my thoughts coherently. When all was said and done, in spite of all the effort, something always felt a little off.
But now, I appreciate those imperfections a little more. This doesn't mean I no longer want to become a better writer. I hope that one day, I'll become a great writer. But when that happens, I hope there will always be something lost translating an idea into actuality. At the end of the day, that gap between my writing and perfection is me.