THE MYTH OF PERFECTION

Ekta Bajaj, The Myth of Perfection

Lately, I have been thinking about perfection.

Not simply in the context of success or achievement, but as an idea itself. We live in a world that seems increasingly preoccupied with perfect outcomes, perfect careers, perfect relationships, perfect bodies, and increasingly, perfect versions of ourselves. Yet the more closely I examine the idea, the more I wonder whether perfection exists at all.

Take something as simple as the weather. A warm sunny day may feel perfect to someone emerging from a long, cold winter. Yet the very same heat may feel unbearable to someone living in a desert. Neither experience is wrong. They simply reflect different realities, different needs, and different perspectives. The same can be said of beauty.

When Vincent van Gogh looked at the night sky, he saw something that countless others did not. The stars above him were the same stars visible to everyone else. Yet what emerged from his perception was The Starry Night, one of the most celebrated paintings in history. The sky itself was not extraordinary. What was extraordinary was the way he experienced it.

Perhaps perfection works in much the same way.

What we often call perfection may not be an objective reality at all. It may simply be a reflection of our perception. What feels complete, beautiful, meaningful, or desirable to one person may hold little significance for another because each of us experiences the world through a unique lens shaped by our memories, experiences, values, fears, hopes, and aspirations.

Ancient wisdom traditions have long explored this idea. In Sanskrit philosophy, there is the concept of avidya, often translated as ignorance or misperception. It points to our tendency to mistake our limited understanding of reality for reality itself. We become convinced that happiness lies in attaining a particular outcome, reaching a particular destination, or becoming a particular version of ourselves. Yet the moment we arrive, the definition shifts. What once seemed perfect no longer feels sufficient.

This is perhaps why perfection remains so elusive. It is not fixed. It evolves as we evolve.

The dreams we hold at twenty are rarely the same dreams we hold at forty. The ambitions that once consumed us may later appear insignificant. The life we once imagined as ideal may no longer fit the person we have become.

As I reflect on writing and storytelling, I find the same principle at work.

Many aspiring authors spend years waiting for the perfect idea, the perfect opening chapter, or the perfect manuscript before allowing themselves to begin. Yet some of the most memorable books I have encountered are not memorable because they are perfect. They endure because they feel alive.

I think of the Korea of Pachinko, the British Muslim experience of Home Fire, the Kerala of The Covenant of Water, and the spiritual and cultural landscape of The Dance with Dakinis. These books are deeply rooted in particular histories, traditions, communities, and ways of seeing the world. Their power does not come from striving for some universal ideal. It comes from embracing their specificity with honesty and conviction.

Perhaps this is true of people as well. The more self-aware we become, the less interested we are in pursuing someone else's definition of perfection and the more interested we become in understanding our own nature.

We begin to recognise that every human being is a unique sum total of experiences, relationships, failures, triumphs, cultures, memories, and questions. No two journeys are identical. No two perspectives are the same. How then can there be a single definition of perfection?

Perhaps what we call perfection is simply alignment. A fleeting moment when our outer lives feel in harmony with our inner selves. And because we continue to grow, learn, and evolve, that alignment will naturally change over time.

The deeper question, then, may not be whether we have achieved perfection, but whether we are becoming more conscious. More aware. More capable of seeing clearly.

In many spiritual traditions, the goal of life is not perfection but awakening. Not the elimination of flaws but the cultivation of understanding. Not becoming someone else, but becoming more fully ourselves.

The more I reflect on it, the more I suspect that perfection is a myth. Self-awareness, however, is not.

And perhaps that is where true freedom begins. Not in the pursuit of an impossible ideal, but in the courage to see ourselves clearly and to live authentically from that place.

Ekta Bajaj

Cultural Curator. Literary Voice. Human Stories.