"Wow, I wish I had that life." That was a thought I caught floating through my brain sometime last year after watching an episode of Mad Men. ( I have not seen the latest season, shut up, I only have Netflix.)
What an odd thought, considering how miserable those characters are. When I actually examined the thought, I realized that what I wanted was the outward perfection of their lives. Part of the popularity of the series is, I think, the crisp perfection in the appearances of the workplace, the homes, the clothing. I think I want that type of perfection in my life. "I would be so happy if my house, my makeup, my clothes were that perfect," I think to myself, despite previous experience not validating that claim.
A facade over a dilapidated foundation is not perfection. Life is a little messy. Actually, life is really messy if you spend 90% of your time with a 2-year-old boy. Perhaps, rather than striving for an artificial perfection, we only need to refocus our attention on an organic, messy beauty. Or, at the very least, look past the mess to focus on the beauty. Remind me of that next time the sticky little kid leaves a slime trail on his way to take a bath.