I noticed something about myself last night. I tend to take out my stress on my eyebrows. I fussed with them for hours. And I always do. I pluck and I prune them down to absolute perfection. And I hate them.
I think that perfection is a joke. I don’t want perfect. My eyebrows match–you could dissect my face with lines all over and find that one brow is perfectly in line with the next, arch and all! And I hate them. Not even my face is that symmetrical. (Which in all fairness causes me a lot of distress as well…)
But the point is, I broke my nose in kindergarten, and it is bent to the left. I have TMJD and my jaw is crooked. One eyebrow–until I whittle it down and fill in the underside–is naturally higher than the other; a nice fit for my eye that is also slightly higher….. my face isn’t perfect. And it never will be. Perfection is a mockery and it doesn’t make you happy. It just laughs in your face once you’ve achieved it and come to realize that you are actually no happier now than you were before. In fact, you’re probably less happy because of that.
Why do I expect so much out of my life? I know that deep down, I don’t care what I have, as long as I have someone to share it with who loves me and all of my imperfections the way that I never will. It’s just when I see my friends and siblings start meeting people and getting married and going to school and finding themselves that I become extremely jealous and want everything that they have and more. More money, more clothes, more love, more perfect.
So I’ve decided that I don’t want my eyebrows to be perfect. I want them to be happy.