A contorted branch determined to arch its back away from its tree grabs a misshapen silhouette seemingly imperfect from the other considerate branches so willing to merge as one symmetrical formation. From the eyes of the newcomer the imperfection is seemingly antagonizing, if not downright insolent. But if one takes the moment to use his other eye, the less critical one that each of us are given, a different story emerges. For the branch with the arched back hovers over a hummingbird’s nest creating the perfect tent of shade for the new mother bird to care for her little chicks. Suddenly the view as once judged to be imperfect becomes....
A child unable to speak his mind using his mouth, limited compared to the other children who have been given the gift of speech wedges himself between the lines of “abnormal” and “extraordinary.” The child, deemed autistic, is unable to clearly convey his inner most feelings and authentic rationalizations. But his eyes, his eyes never lie. For although he cannot convey his depth using his speech, he can indeed convey his deeper thoughts using other senses that overcompensate. His mother and father feel his loving gaze, know him from the inside, and feel his complex inventive, and even inspired imaginative heart as he experiments creatively with the world around him. Suddenly his disability that indicates his inability to speak how he feels forces deeper conversation between him and even between husband and wife forming new ways to keep the child stimulated as a means of discovering his expression. Words turn into gestures, gestures turn into song, and the unspoken word suddenly becomes....
An addict standing in his own way. Stubborn and knee deep in his addiction to feed his habit. Whether it is the habit of working too much, refusing to connect, declining to live in the moment, consuming alcohol, drugs, gambling or eating, the addict is beholden to his vice. To stop the clock and immerse himself in the complexities of vulnerable connection is not an option. Suddenly spells of time turn into lifetimes and the addict awakens to realize how much pain has been paved in his wake. Frozen in his own rock bottom trap, he has no choice but to finally press the reset button. He shows up to meetings and redesigns his life to reflect a healthier form of himself still bearing the brand of addict, or disappointer. And while his new self can never erase his mistakes, they are there as reminders of what he once was and how far he has come from that time of decay. His shame morphs into pride of his uphill climb as he remembers how easily it would have been to stay there at the bottom. He stares at the scars that surround his tight throat and the purple veins that have collapsed too many times and he realizes suddenly he is....
Salty popcorn drizzled with butter. That’s the smell an orphan thinks of when he reflects on his father no longer here physically. Movies they watched, laughs they participated in. Salty popcorn. Jokes they compared. Father’s day. Ties. Underwear. Socks. Gifts he gave his dad that made him happy. Suddenly the popcorn is gone, the rolemodel he joked with no longer speaks or protects him from the shade. But the child is left with salty popcorn and the stillness. That lingering familiar smell, reminding him of good times reminding him to recreate those good times with his own children one day who get to experience him as the father, making Father’s day different and....
Life, death, birth, lives perfectly imperfect. Maybe the imperfections that chase the colors into a sweeping blur are not meant to look careless. Like a ridged misshapen puzzle piece that lacks symmetry left alone and cold, potentially companionless, detached and forlorn, we are part of a larger canvas. A canvas that has thousands of other similar misshapen and disfigured puzzle pieces. These deformities and asymmetrical formations that feel ill-proportioned and out of design are indeed perfectly imperfect once they are settled together. Making us realize that our imperfections, our greatest gifts not at all unique in experience only in detail are what define our dramatic journey making life always and indeed....
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