The tendency of society is to over glorify things, to further romanticize what is already romantic, and to see only two sides to a spectrum.
Indeed as the last generation grows older don’t we hear more and more about how great the past was? How if only we could go back? How everything was much better then? A cry out to the simpler times.
The notion of true love now existing as the cliche plot of a child’s fairytale, the cruel white knight saving a cooing helpless beauty. These retired stories never mentioning how the princess reacts to what her beloved knight had to do, kill, slaughter, and violently slay in order to save her. Or the nightmares he suffers later from the turmoil of his trials. Or the guilt both share as their happily ever after dwindles into the monotony of everyday.
Maybe the concept of imperfection, not having things go our way is too much for us to bear as a whole. We are unmistakably aware of our lack of control. For this reason we may look to the past for bliss or read those flawed but pretty stories for comfort. To search for a world with no risks and to live once upon a time like fools perishing on their journey for some Inexistent grail.
In the same way we pin ourselves against the other for lack of understanding. An age old and immature belief that ‘they’re not like me so they must be the opposite.’ My enemy, even. Persistent thoughts of good versus evil, black and white, republican, democrat, woman, man, cradle and grave. The concept of grey cast to the wayside, a flag constantly battered, torn, yet somehow tempered stronger like the sword by sea salt from the nearby bay.
Why not teach ourselves differently? And accept the quality of imperfection as something to celebrate? Wouldn’t the fables be more enticing if they focused on how the hero and heroine put aside their differences and overcame themselves for each other? Instead of appearing like two god-sent matching puzzle pieces? Wouldn’t the future appear brighter if the past weren’t idolized as our goal? And how much less bloody would our wars be if we sought to wear the glasses of our neighbors? The shoes of our enemies? And the clothes of our trespassers?
There are no holy wars, no ‘good ol’ days,’ nor perfect unrequited loves in this fantastic planet. And the paradox of our world is that this is in fact what makes life perfect. The challenge of each new day, the struggle of acceptance, and the incredible diversity of not only the human race but our universe. Yes, though the pains, demons, strifes, and tragedies of Pandora’s box persist today, the greatest gift of hope in ourselves is what still keeps our axles turning- eager for the promise of each perfectly imperfect day.