**“Do not fear perfection—you will never achieve it.” ~Salvador Dalí**
We exist in a society that reveres flawless outcomes.
Immaculate images on Instagram. Polished podcasts without any awkward silences. Articles that read as if they’ve undergone endless editing.
With AI technologies now available, capable of generating error-free text in mere moments, the standards appear even loftier. Machines can produce perfect sentences, impeccable grammar, and brilliant ideas as needed. Meanwhile, I’m questioning a paragraph, rewriting it multiple times, and still deliberating whether to sign off an email with “Best” or “Warmly.”
It’s all too easy to feel like our authentic, imperfect efforts don’t compare.
I’ve stumbled into that mindset numerous times. I’ve postponed sharing because “it’s not ready.” I’ve re-recorded podcasts after mispronouncing a word. I’ve adjusted and modified things that would go unnoticed by anyone else.
Perfectionism whispers: *If it’s not flawless, keep it to yourself.*
However, over time, I’ve grasped a different truth: imperfection isn’t a drawback. It’s fundamentally what matters.
### A Table Full of Imperfections
One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned regarding imperfection didn’t arise from writing or technology but rather from woodworking.
About ten years ago, I opted to create a dining table. I dedicated hours to measuring, cutting, sanding, and staining. I aspired for perfection.
But here’s the reality of woodworking: nothing ever comes out perfect. Ever.
That table may appear sturdy from afar. But as you approach, the flaws become apparent. The board I mismeasured by a quarter inch. The corner I over-sanded. The stain that didn’t apply evenly.
Initially, I perceived those flaws as shortcomings. Evidence of my lack of skill, patience, or attention to detail.
Yet something unexpected occurred. My wife entered the room, saw the completed table, and expressed her love for it. She overlooked the mistakes. She recognized something crafted with affection and care.
Gradually, I began to see it that way, too.
That table isn’t merely furniture. It represents effort, a journey, and perseverance. It holds my fingerprints, my sweat, and my flawed humanity.
And here’s the twist: it’s far more satisfying than any mass-produced, machine-made item.
### Why Imperfection Connects Us
That table imparted a lesson that AI could never teach: flaws narrate a story.
Machines may yield perfect results, but they lack the ability to generate meaning. They cannot replicate the satisfaction of sanding wood with your own hands or the laughter shared over a table that shook during its first month.
Imperfections imbue something with our essence. They embody our fingerprints, idiosyncrasies, and personal experiences.
On the other hand, perfection is lifeless. It may be striking, but it seldom feels vibrant.
Consider those moments that resonate with us deeply—a friend’s heartfelt story, a giggle that escalates into a snort, a speech where the presenter loses their train of thought yet recovers with authenticity. When was the last instance you felt closest to someone? Likely, it wasn’t during a polished performance, but rather when they were genuine. Those instances bond us precisely because they are flawed.
They remind us that we are not alone in our imperfections.
### The AI Contrast
AI captivates us because it never falters. It never hesitates. It never sends an awkward text or splashes coffee on its keyboard. AI excels at perfection. But perfection does not equate to significance.
Yet here’s what AI cannot do:
– It cannot experience the blend of pride and embarrassment in revealing your wobbly table to someone.
– It cannot appreciate the joy of preparing a meal that didn’t unfold as envisioned.
– It cannot comprehend the sensation of clicking “publish” as your stomach churns with anxiety.