Savor those little imperfections.
An overlooked spot of stubble from morning’s shave.
A line in a poem which doesn’t rhyme, but still feels right.
One dirty dish left in the sink.
A word on the tip of the tongue, which can’t make the leap into utterance.
A tinge of sadness in an otherwise joyous moment.
It is not “perfection” which makes us whole. It is the wholesome awareness that everything is perfect just the way it Is.