Found this poetic reflection recently on the inward/outward blog and loved it. It speaks to me about getting older and even (maybe) growing up.

The original piece is by Elizabeth Carlson and it’s called “Imperfection”. It is one of these pieces which we can all personalise in some way – so I have changed it a little and have removed the ‘Americanisms’ before posting. (You can find the original version  here.)

I am falling in love
with my imperfections
The way I never get the sink really clean,
forget to check my oil,
lose my car in the car park ,
miss appointments I have written down,
am just a little late.

I am learning to love
the small bumps on my face
the big bump of my nose,
my greying hairline,
my spreading waistline,
the deepening laughter lines.

Learning to love
the open-ended mystery
of not knowing why.

I am learning to fail
to make lists,
use my time wisely,
read the books I should.

Instead I practice inconsistency,
irrationality, forgetfulness.

Probably I should
hang my clothes neatly in the wardrobe
all the shirts together, then the skirts,
send Christmas cards, or better yet
a letter telling of
my perfect family.

But I’d rather waste time
listening to the rain,
or lying underneath my cat
learning to purr.

I used to fill every moment
with something I could
cross off later.

Perfect was
the ironing done and folded
all those essays marked
the whole truth and nothing but.

Now the quiet mind is what I seek
the formless shape
the strange off centre
sometimes fictional

Picture is ‘reflection’ by Jonny Baker on Flickr

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