Imperfections

A nineteen-year-old was in discussion with a barber as they both looked in the mirror.

From what I gathered, the young man would be on a first date later that evening. The barber had finished his job and asked if it was acceptable.

“A little there. Now over here, can you fix this? And this one section … can you trim it just a little closer?”

After all the micro-adjustments, the customer paid and left.

When I sat in the chair, the barber said with a smile, “Poor kid. He thinks it will make a difference. It won’t.”

Maybe there was some truth to it. But I hope he had a good date anyhow.

* * *

When we’re nervous, or the stakes are high, we tend to sweat the little things. We worry that the smallest detail — a wrong word or a hair out of place — could turn the tide irrevocably against us.

And sure, it could. But is it likely?

No.

Thing is, when we convince ourselves that insignificant details are critical, they become so.

Better to zoom out and to breathe. Tend to the details, but accept imperfections with grace.

In a way, imperfections are the sign that a thing is real.