The dress is on backwards, her (my) shoes are on the wrong feet, she’s holding her camera backwards, her hair is a mess, and there’s a dog pinned under the door. Also, the lighting is off, and it’s not well focused or composed. There is not a thing I would change about this picture. This snapshot tells a story about our life. It’s messy, and lively, and it’s spontaneous. It’s beautiful, and those little imperfections are part of what makes it… well… perfect.
I love this picture.
Beauty is imperfection
I have a mint green blanket that my grandmother knit for my baby. My grandmother was in her late 90s, had arthritis in her hands, and she was close to blind, but she was determined to knit this blanket for my daughter. The blanket was probably knit, in it’s entirety, several times with the number of times mistakes were caught, ripped out, and re-knitted, and yet the finished product is still full of dropped stitches. Those holes make the blanket even more beautiful to me. If the blanket was completed flawlessly, it would be easy to overlook the effort and determination and love that went into making that blanket. That’s not to say that a perfectly finished blanket made by someone’s grandma isn’t beautiful, but for this blanket, the flaw carries the story.
I struggle with perfectionism, and sometimes it’s paralyzing. I get stalled on a project because I can’t see a perfect outcome with my abilities, or with my resources. Of course, we want to do our best, but then get busy living. Those little imperfections are sometimes the best, most memorable and most endearing parts.
Years ago, my parents discovered that we have a photo of my mom at 4-years old, and a picture of me at 4-years-old that highlight the family resemblance.
I determined right then, that if I ever had a daughter, I would take a similar photo, so we could frame together the 3 generations of photos.
This is my mother at 4
This is me at 4
I kept waiting for my daughter to turn 4, so I could take this picture of her. Then I forgot about it. Then she turned 5.
Finally, my mom kicked me into gear and reminded me to take that photo. So I started planning the photo, scoping out the perfect location, and then forgetting about it again.
I remembered again this morning, so I threw a blanket on the floor, put her in a dress, and snapped the photo before I had time to start planning again, and then forgetting again.
This is my daughter at 5
3 Generations
I’m so glad I stopped planning and just grabbed the moment.
The Seattle Iranian Festival is an annual event for my family. My husband got his Master’s degree in Persian literature, and through his studies we were introduced to the local Persian community.
Each year we reconnect with old friends, and savor the amazing food.
Art, colors, texture, music, beauty everywhere…
Each year Gem is made to feel like a princess, as our friends tell her they remember when she was just tiny.
But you needn’t be connected to the local Iranian community to enjoy the Seattle Iranian Festival. Free, welcoming, open to all, this event will open your eyes to a beautiful culture that is not well understood in our country. It comes around every year. Give it a try next June.
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