I heard myself saying my Dad’s words today on the phone. I was saying that it’s okay to be imperfectly perfect. When you think about it we’re all imperfect aren’t we. I’ve survived 2 cerebral infarctions (strokes). I’ve learned to talk & walk twice. The walking thing I’ll never master & I’m okay with that. Some of my imperfections are visible. That makes acceptance necessary for me. I deal with being imperfect pretty damn well,. . Being perfect would be to much of a challenge for me. However glowing & successful someone seems the truth is we’re all just mere imperfect mortals. For me not being perfect means I can feel empathy & show compassion to others. I can see the frailty & struggle within them. Being infallible joins us all as humanity & that’s how it should be,. We could bury our heads in the sand & pretend that our inbuilt defect won’t prevail. The reality is we’re not built to last. We will all die. I’m going to enjoy being imperfectly perfect whilst I’m here My quirks & weirdness are unique to me & I wouldn’t wish to be anyone else. My Father’s words just popped into my head today. He’d lifted his head out of his newspaper whilst I was moaning. He looked over his spectacles, sighed and said ‘what’s the matter with you; you were born to be real not perfect; deal with it’. He shook out his paper & said no more. That was exactly what I said to someone on the phone today. I dislike wailing about non consequential crap & I don’t mind sharing. Just for today I gave a reality check without apologising (Uk spelling) for it. Sometimes my real is blunt just like my Dad.