“I honestly don’t think anyone will notice.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them — as if my mom, trying to cover the gaping hole in our living room wall, would believe me.
It was the morning of my fifteenth birthday. Realistically, my plans to celebrate with friends later that night hinged on my mom’s willingness to host people in our living room, which itself depended on the success of the cover-up job that needed to happen first. Months prior, my dad had gotten the idea to “motivate” him and my mom to finally redoing the living room mantle and fireplace. His solution had been to completely knock out the old fireplace, which he undertook one weekend while my mom and I were away for a swim meet. The result? Instead of forcing a swift remodel like expected, we lived with a gaping hole in our wall for months and my dad received a “what were you thinking” look from the rest of us every time the subject was broached.
We had people over anyway. My friends noticed the missing fireplace, but it was laughed off as a well-intentioned dad blunder and the conversation quickly moved on. I don’t even remember what our living room looked like that night, only the people that came and the fun we had.
I came across a quote the other day that reminded me of that night. It is from Leonard Cohen’s song, “Anthem.”
“Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in”
Forget your perfect offering. Sure, the state of our living room at the time may not have fit my mom’s definition of a “perfect offering.” Yet, had we let optics get in the way of inviting people over, I would have missed out on a fond memory of all my high school friends gathered together in one place.
I did not share my mom’s distress at the time, but with age, I have come to better understand where she was coming from. It wasn’t the lack of a fireplace that prompted her fretting, exactly, but the idea that others could perceive a “weakness” in the pristine, put-together home environment she strove to emulate. Although I do not own a home to host people in, it seems like life demands “perfect offerings” from me in other forms — getting perfect test grades, curating the perfect Instagram feed, following the perfect workout routine, landing the perfect internship. Anything less can seem like a failure of self, a result of my own weaknesses and faults.
Cohen rejects that idea, and rightfully so. I think about the times I struggled to get up to work out in the morning, the times I built the perfect course schedule just for all the classes to fill up before my registration time, or the times I rehearsed a presentation only to go off-script during the real thing. In all those cases, how often did it end up being okay? The answer is: every time. The workout was done, the classes taken, the presentation given. It might not have been perfect, but it was good.
Striving for perfection only to be severely humbled by reality is a natural part of growing up. My friend’s dad was painfully honest when he told her that “the point of college is to break you so that you’re okay with life being messy.” He means “messy” in the sense that things will rarely go as planned, and that is okay. The best way to make God laugh is to tell him your plans — what matters is that you accept life for what it is, rather than what you wish it could be. This does not mean that lofty goals are pointless, or suggest that you lower your standards by any means. It just guards us against an unrealistic notion of “perfect” getting in the way of good.
But Cohen goes further to say that our “messiness” also produces hidden blessings. Weakness becomes strength and fault becomes virtue. Forgetting your rehearsed answers results in a much more natural, meaningful conversation during a job interview. A wrong turn during your day trip leads you to discover an amazing hole-in-the-wall restaurant. Your meeting running behind allows for your team to slow down and bond instead. Focusing on what is wrong can blind you to all the things that also go, unexpectedly, so right.
Although easier said than done, I wonder what other aspects of my life I can accept the “cracks” in my plans and recognize how they “let the light in,” instead. My worst fear is looking back on life wishing I had invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained, or that I had jumped in the pool instead of worrying about getting my hair wet. There is no use in postponing happiness, delaying progress or missing out on memories because you’re caught up in some unattainable idea of “perfect.”
There’s a possibility that my family will host Thanksgiving this year. Our living room’s fireplace-sized hole has been filled since I was fifteen, but I welcome the fact that there will likely be other things needing “covering up” before people come over. If we intentionally focus on the whole point of gathering – being together – we may find that it really isn’t that hard, after all. There’s always a lot of light to let in.
Allison Elshoff is a junior studying Business Analytics with minors in the Hesburgh Program of Public Service and Impact Consulting. Originally from Valencia, California and currently living in Badin Hall, you can find her unsubscribing from email lists or hammocking by the lakes. You can contact Allison at aelshoff@nd.edu.
