Perfection is the Enemy of Happiness
The story of the man who wanted the perfect wife…
“In his writings, an Italian sage
says that the best is the enemy of the good.”
— Voltaire (from his poem, La Bégueule)
Do you ever feel like nothing is ever good enough?
The work you do isn’t good enough. The things you own aren’t good enough. And the people in your life aren’t good enough.
This isn’t uncommon, but it should concern you.
Because while you’re busy finding what’s wrong with your life, the good is slipping by.
This fantasy of perfection is what’s limiting you. Expecting perfection and striving for perfection could be preventing you from experiencing a great life.
Do all happy people have the perfect life, with no problems, no marks on their shirts, no bad days, no annoying people in their life? Of course not.
So what’s the separator? What makes them happy?
The Man Who Wanted a Perfect Wife
Origin: Middle Eastern Folktale
Once there was a man who had decided he would only marry the perfect woman. She had to be flawless in beauty, character, and intellect. Confident in his criteria, he set out on his search, turning away every woman who didn’t meet his exacting standards.
First, he met a woman who was wise and kind, but he thought she wasn’t beautiful enough. Then he found a woman who was beautiful but dismissed her for not being as intelligent as he wanted. Time and again, he met women with wonderful qualities, but each time, he found a small flaw and rejected them. Years passed, and his search continued fruitlessly.
Finally, one day, after travelling far and wide, he met a woman who was as close to perfection as he could imagine. She was kind, intelligent, and more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. He believed he had finally found the one. But to his great surprise, she turned him down.
“Why?” he asked, bewildered.
The woman smiled gently and said, “I am seeking the perfect man.”
Realising his own imperfections and the folly of his quest, the man finally understood that true happiness lies not in finding someone perfect, but in accepting each other’s flaws.
Moral
Perfection is not a destination, but a distraction.
– Anonymous
The lesson is, that maybe perfection doesn’t exist at all.
Maybe it’s not the imperfections causing pain and sadness, but the resistance to their inevitable existence.
Maybe happy people are not happy because things are perfect, but because they accept that nothing is.
Our 2005 Toyota Echo, riddled with dings and dents is certainly not perfect. But I love it.
And when I look at my sisters and realise how much they’ve grown and matured, it has nothing to do with perfection. Yet it makes my eyes well up with joy.
And when I spend time with my friends and loved ones, they’re far from perfect. Yet I’m filled with joy, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.
And I when I look in the mirror, I know what I see isn’t perfect at all, and inside my soul — even less. Yet, I should choose to forgive, to accept, to be kind and to love all of it.
So, as you read this, if I can leave you with a message, it’d be to accept what life gives you, and cherish it.
When imperfections show themselves in yourself, your partner, your family or your career, ask yourself:
Is perfect what I truly want?
Sincerely,
eren
What is perfection really? It's just one point of view. I told my husband he was a perfectionist. He suffered so much because nothing was perfect. He wanted everything to be the way he wanted it. His idea of perfection. For example, no barking dogs, no loud talking people, no smoking near him, and on and on. We will never have "perfection." Why not just accept what is and don't let it bother you.? Easier said than done. Great post, Eren.
As a former perfectionist, I resonate with your words. Perfectionism, for me, was a facade to shield my true self from rejection and criticism. Interestingly, when I began to embrace the uniqueness and imperfections in others, it became easier to embrace my own. I now view my not so great traits—like my horrible navigation skills, clumsiness, and forgetfulness in answering messages —as something funny that is currently part of me. I work on it, but I accept it at the same time.