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Thursday 14 August 2014

EVERYTHING IS PERFECT


I hate the word ‘perfect.’ In fact, I not only hate it, I think it wreaks havoc on many levels and that disturbs me. I know, I’m feeling extreme today so let’s blame my cold medicine. A celebrity spoke out recently saying that in hindsight, her quest for perfection throughout her life has turned out to not only be detrimental to her psyche, but was a total waste of time (I’m paraphrasing, as she’s much more obnoxiously eloquent). In short, she realized there was no such thing and is happy to put an end to the exhausting quest for the pot of perfect. (I wonder how much that cost in therapy)

Here is the thing, aside from snowflakes, raindrops, a child’s laugh, and the occasional espresso done right after a sleepless night, there is nothing on this planet that is actually perfect. It’s a hyperbolic, idealistic, inflated pipedream of a word that we throw around to set ourselves up for failure. He was the perfect guy (haaaaa), we had the perfect date, she has the perfect body, they had the perfect life. It’s a word thrown around in a wink-wink fashion that for most is an attempt at the ultimate compliment (unless its dripping with sarcasm of course). Which don’t get me wrong, telling your husband you had the most perfect weekend is certainly a sweet thing to do, but from a linguistic/semantic point of view - which you know us bloggers, we love to hang our hats on semantics - it’s not entirely accurate.

In truth, the use of the word perfect is pure exaggeration; a hope, a wish, a descriptive pinnacle to shut out all the naysayers and doubters in the world. 'Everything is perfect damn it, what do you say to that?'  Let’s take the unrelenting quest of the beauty industry to make us drones think we have to be ‘perfect.’ Every ad on television is telling us how we can have the perfect life. Be it the right car, the right hair products, the right make-up, the right holiday. Whatever they’re selling the message is clear, it will help you on your way to looking (let’s keep in mind, it’s not about feeling; they could give a toss how we feel) like the picture perfect person in the advertisement. This is where, from my standpoint, things can get dangerous. Some little fourteen-year-old girl on the quest for the ‘perfect’ body is measuring herself up to some unrealistic, unattainable benchmark, when in truth, her perfection is staring right back at her in the bedroom mirror. People kill themselves to achieve something and wonder why the journey is so damn painful and the destination is NEVER reached - ahem, cause it doesn't exist.

Hence, from where I stand, the word perfect should always be followed by a caveat (I’m going to write Webster’s Dictionary about this). He’s the perfect guy, for you (for me, we'd be divorced in 10 minutes). She has the perfect legs to a guy who likes long legs (thankfully my husband likes us diminutive types); their marriage is perfect…on Facebook (many are guilty of this one). Her children are perfect…aside from that little petty theft blemish on their record. You get the idea.

None of us are perfect. The human condition is inherently not perfect. The idea of perfect is something we hang on the wall to look at and strive for in some mythological way. Come on, Humans! Keep waking up in the morning and striving for perfect, it means you’re not dead yet!

In simple terms, perfect is an illusion unless defined by oneself; so let’s own this one, shall we. So yes, I’m perfect. I’m perfectly flawed and perfectly short and perfectly vivacious (after my morning coffee) and perfectly aware that I’m far from perfect. And you know what, I’m perfectly fine with that.



Tuesday 12 August 2014

MY CAPTAIN OH CAPTAIN


There has been a discussion of late over mental illness in our country (some might call it a discussion, I'm not that optimistic) due to the - nonsensical and tragic - gun violence that continues to plague our country, and in my opinion, it is a dialogue that has been a long time coming. Unfortunately, as all things in society, the dialogue stops short of addressing all sides of the issue, in that mental illness comes in all forms, the overt and the very silent and insidious. With the all too recent and tragic passing of Robin Williams, I’m hoping that the illness of depression finally gets it fair due (I hate when tragic things have to happen to shed light on things, but hence, it’s sadly the way of the world).

Over the years, I have known many people who have suffered from depression (lifelong and bouts of it), myself included and it is one of those things that until you experience it, you truly have no idea of the blanket over your life it can cast. There is no instant happy pill (although many drug companies will argue with me on this fact) and it crosses all economic and social lines. Depression doesn’t care how much money you have or how fortunate your life is, if you’re prone to depression, no money in the world is going to alleviate the chemical stain it can leave upon your psyche. And there is truly nothing worse than people ready to judge and throw out the tactless comment of ‘What do you have to be so depressed about? You have everything.’ If only it were that simple.

In the case of Robin Williams, I’m sure many around the world are simultaneously mourning his passing whilst scratching their heads. Why oh why would a man with so much in his life, kill himself? The answer is simple: depression can simply be too overwhelming for some to handle. Now before you come down upon me waving your emphatic arguments to the contrary (which I welcome of course), I’m not saying that depression can’t be treated, or alleviated, or even that one cannot grow out of phases of depression, as depression can often be linked to hormonal and chemical imbalances (exacerbated by lifestyle of course). But for some, like any addiction, the pull of it is simply is too great and there is a broad spectrum of sufferers and with a varying degree of how deep their affliction reaches. For some, this abyss is simply too deep. This is tantamount for people to understand. Depression, like any illness is not a one size fits all disease. 

What I hope and pray from tragedies such as this is that it gets us talking, really talking, and moreover it gets those under the vice of illnesses such as this to reach out and ask for help. Mental illness should not be a taboo; It should not be run from or feared. It should be discussed and explored and treated like anything else. It's that simple (or should be).

So in honor of Robin, 'my captain, oh captain,' I hope more people step forward and put a voice to depression. It’s long overdue.

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