Can We Talk About Perfection?

So I've noticed a few things lately about body image. My own, in particular. And how negative I can be.

In particular, I don't like my pores. At this point you are probably rolling your eyes and getting up from your computer. You should be. It's asinine. I've been self conscious about them since junior high. Yes, junior high. Because that is when puberty hit, and that is when I started getting blackheads, and that is when my pores seemed to open themselves up wide. I'd look around at others and think that their skin didn't look like mine did. I was embarrassed by my large pores. Blah, blah, blah...sob story is that the obsession with having smaller pores has never left.

I've tried various and sundry items. Some things seemed to work well at first, like a pore refiner at the beginning of the day. But then as the day went on, and makeup started to slough off my face (probably just filling up those giant pores of mine), well, the pores looked the same as they always had. The best think that I can say is that a good exfoliator four times a week seems to help. At least my skin stays clean.

And then the wrinkles started to set in...and age spots...and the redness in my cheeks caused by too much sun in my teens and even early twenties. Oh, and I'm prone to moles, anyway, so there's that.

Let's just say my skin doesn't remind me much of peaches and cream.

But what the what? I mean really, what the what? Is it so important? No...it is not that important at all. In fact, in is unimportant is what it is. Because I started looking around me. I'd notice some really pretty girls. And guess what? Their skin is not perfect. Oh, I mean, there are some girls with no skin issues and they are pretty and lucky. But really there are plenty of girls out there with open pores, or acne scars, or sun damage, or freckles, or moles...you get the idea. And they are still pretty.

More importantly, they have more to offer than good looks or whatever perfection is supposed to be. They are kind to others. They serve people around them. They take care of their families. They work hard. They are smart. Maybe that is perfection.

Or maybe it is my new motto, to love more, that is probably a better standard of what perfection is than anything else that I can think of.

Oh I am so completely, utterly, ridiculously hard on myself.

But...I don't have to be. I can appreciate the face, the body, the hair, the mind, the soul that is me. I can. Because there is a lot more to me than open pores. A whole lot more.