I like making perfect coffee; of course it never comes out perfect. Today, it was close to perfect, perhaps because my mind was finally at ease, at peace. I’d been thinking too much, hoping to escape my worries by thoughts of driving to a beach, deliberately avoiding possibilities for change and self-betterment. I’d been preoccupied with insignificant imperfections of what life had turned out to be.
But then I thought of my prolonged summer after four months abroad. I thought of how much I did and didn’t do and decided in the end that my summer wasn’t wasted. In fact, I now feel quite sure that it was pretty close to perfect, interesting, fulfilling, easy but challenging, seemingly lazy and yet productive.
I thought of how we all strive for perfection, for life to be just right. We blame ourselves for the mishaps, ignore the laws of nature and logic and reason and take full responsibility for any incoherence. Sometimes things are the way they are because they were meant to be, because some force, something beyond our conscience was involved. Or because we just weren’t lucky.