How to smile at imperfection

For a long-time I thought about sharing how I’ve grown to appreciate imperfection over the years. We often say “nothing is perfect” but sometimes I don’t think we practice that belief. I hear it all the time, we want the perfect mate, perfect relationship, perfect score, perfect job, the list is endless. This made me think, well if nothing is perfect – why does it seem like we’re all striving for the perfect version of something? It felt as if this as something, we say to ourselves but didn’t practice in real life – something we take for granted I surmise. For this reason – taking imperfection for granted- I now avoid romantic partners who say they are seeking the perfect mate. I know immediately I’m not meant for them. And I’m grateful for that clarity. But that’s a story for another day. I resolve that maybe we’re all defining perfect differently, within our own lens but whatever lens we use – they are ultimately influenced by the societal context within which we all exist. 

The most poignant teacher of imperfection in my circle has been Li* She is a 70-year-old Asian pedicurist. Let me tell you what I’ve learned from Li over the last decade or so. 

The first lesson was – you can still love someone after they’ve practically waxed off one of your eyebrows. LOL! I kid, kinda. The real lesson here was – if someone specializes in a thing – don’t tempt fate and expect them to perform well doing something else! It was my first, and last, time having Li do my brows. I still love her dearly.

Before I tell you about Li, I must set the scene. The nail shop where Li works is in the hood – like hood-hood. Travel light, don’t bring your purse- hood. I call the strip of road it’s on the Gaza strip. It’s the type of place where you get visitors coming in to sell patrons everything from individual Dove body washes to cases of fresh broccoli. Yes, you read that right, fresh broccoli at the nail shop. An entire piece could be written about the experience of being in this nail shop for a couple hours, but I digress. Li is stationed in the back of the salon and has 2 chairs for her customers exclusively. She works a few days per week and not on the weekends. So, one must plan their pedicure accordingly. 

At 70, Li is learning new vegan recipes via You Tube on her iPad – and encourages me to try a few. At my best estimation, she is 4’ 11” tall – and this may be an exaggeration. It took me a few years to realize that Li wears 5-inch platform shoes. And even with these added inches, her head lands around my breast line. If you’re not paying attention, you’ll probably miss the shoes under her long white lab coat. Li enjoys roasted unsalted peanuts; we have this in common. She has an impeccable memory. Li remembers everything that you share, whether about family, work, health, partners etc. What makes this even more astounding is that she has an extensive client base that spans generations (meaning my mom, grand-mom and I all see Li). I’m always amazed at how great a memory she has considering not just her volume of customers but also my infrequent visits. Li will ask about those closest to me in great detail; and I’m always pleasantly surprised that she both cares and remembers anything about my life.

During our sessions, Li shares about her family; her daughter and grandchildren. She shares about her health and the woes of being underinsured in America. I’ll mention here that she would share her life in such a way that, she never complained but merely shared as part of her honest response to my question of – “How are you Li?” I love this about our discussions; they feel rich, honest, unpretentious. Unlike most others who respond to this question with “I’m fine and you.” Just to keep the conversation going on a surface level. 

Now, Li gives a mean pedicure – ones that last over an hour and leaves your feet feeling like baby smooth skin. She would scrub, grate and raze dead skin like no one else can. Over time, I noticed while applying polish Li’s hands would tremble. After a few times, I noticed she would ask a younger nail tech to apply polish after she just completed the pedicure from heaven. I would often insist that Li paint my nails (so long as she felt up to it) and here’s why.

Be aware of small lies (social and other) and use them as opportunities to live truthfully.  Before we can tell the truth about a thing, or actively live in that truth, we must first tune in and increase our awareness. Li wanted my polish to be perfect; I can appreciate that. But the truth is, it didn’t need to be perfect it just needed to be good enough. This truth, as reflected by Li in those moments, only became apparent because I was paying attention and sharing the moment with her. I wasn’t caught up in distractions. There are many similar instances I can think of – the most frequent one is how we respond when asked how are you today? Or deciding how we present ourselves in the world (virtual or actual) – for example to wear an afro or straighten your hair. These moments are happening all around us – all the time. The true question becomes how aware we are – which then enables us to decide how we’ll interact with this moment using this information. It all starts with being aware of what is.

Practice consistently challenging the notion of perfection. We exist in an environment that incentivizes and rewards perfection – which in itself is one of the many small social lies we tell each other. To combat this constant lie – and messaging of it – I believe it’s important to practice truth telling and truthful living as best we can in both large and small ways. Now, let me be clear – I’m in no way advocating for a surgeon with trembling hands. Everything has context and boundaries and as adults reading this, I hope that is clear. Being aware of all that was happening in those moments with Li allowed me to internalize the beauty of imperfection both in the moment and across time. Across time: Watching her navigate her 70-year-old body made me acutely aware of the vulnerabilities and perceived “imperfections” of our physical bodies. There are so many societal messages (both overt and covert), particularly aimed at women in Western culture, that support the notion we should do all we can to avoid aging and its accoutrements. Despite the fact that aging is as natural as breathing, as certain as the seasons changing, as universal as the effect of gravity. In the moment: Watching Li try to keep her hands steady, try to line up each polish stroke with the previous one, try to stay within the borders of the nail-bed, try to give me perfection – was a small and powerful lesson in smiling at imperfection. In those moments I realized I could care less about a perfect polish from Li, what I cared about was sharing this moment with her. Making a practice of telling the truth about imperfection and challenging how we think about being imperfect is critical on so many levels. Having Li paint my nails imperfectly was a constant reminder of the perennial truths that are – nothing is perfect, absolutely no one is paying attention to the minute imperfections in a pedicure and it’s all temporary anyway.

Li is a gift in so many ways. She is kind, honest, vulnerable and all the lush goodness you can imagine. She unknowingly created space for me to live more truthfully, just by being herself. So yes, this is a Li appreciation body of work. It’s also your reminder (and mine) to find small moments in life, that often feel insignificant, but within them lie the tremendous opportunity to move beyond perfection and live truthfully. If only we are aware enough not to miss the moment.  

Until next time, walk gud’

*name changed to protect the innocent. Btw: if you’re ever in the North Jersey area and want a pedicure from Li , I’m happy to make the connection.