Learning To Appreciate Our Lives As They Are

Unfinished, Not Unhappy: Imperfect pieces bring life together perfectly

The Final Word By Craig Wilson

It seems most every magazine these days offers us hope on its cover. Lose Weight Today! Fall in Love Tonight! Become a Millionaire Right Now! There's little we can't do if we just buy the magazine and follow the tips.

The October issue of Whole Living, for instance, offers up "Stress-Free Simplicity: Create Outer Order and Inner Calm." I bit. Who doesn't want outer order and inner calm?

Among the articles was one on wabi sabi, the Japanese philosophy that celebrates what's natural, flaws and all. There's beauty in the imperfect. A well-worn kitchen table is better than new. Get it?

I'm happy to hear about this, since my life is far from perfection. In fact, I should be downright ecstatic if this wabi sabi thing is the real deal. Much of my furniture is worn. So am I.

Despite the fact we just underwent a major makeover — painting, plastering, refinishing of floors — our 140-year-old townhouse still boasts imperfections. And before long, the cracks will reappear, which I now understand is a very good thing. (I wish I'd known all this before we spent thousands of dollars.)

But what I was most pleased to learn is that wabi sabi pertains to people, too — that you accept each other, even when they are "imperfect, unfinished and mortal." It says so right here in the article.

I like the word "unfinished." Maybe that's why I enjoy children so much. They're works in progress.

My neighbor Josie is 5. She often hangs out at our kitchen window, hoping for a handout, or at least some scintillating conversation. We joke around. (She's enrolled in a tae kwon do class on Saturday mornings now, so I watch what I say these days.)

Josie arrives at our house using a variety of transportation — wagons, scooters, bikes. Her favorite bike of late is a very Philippe Starck-like machine made of wood. It has no pedals. Josie's feet move her along, and at quite a good clip, I might add.

She was patrolling the neighborhood the other day when I asked her if she wanted to go to the corner store with me. Her mom nodded OK.

So Josie and I headed out, covering the two blocks in no time. Before I knew it, she was riding her bike right into the store and down the aisle. She pulled up to the candy display, reached up for a handful of Reese's Pieces, handed them to me, then rode right back down the aisle and out into the afternoon sun. I paid.

"Focus on the sensations of the other person," the wabi sabi people say. How could I not?

Unfinished? You bet.

Imperfect? Hardly.