In Japanese culture there is the concept of Wabi Sabi, celebrating the perfection of the imperfect.

For most of my life I have struggled with being a perfectionist, which any perfectionist will tell you is an uphill battle. The older I get the more I realise that perfectionism is an illusion. There is no such thing, except in the mind.

Nature is perfect in its imperfection, like the tree growing sideways, atop a windswept cliff. The imperfection of this tree is testament to its courage to grow in such a place, and its resilience to survive despite the harsh environment.

Life is like that too. Life is not always perfect. Yet this imperfection is testament to our courage and resilience.

As a yogini, it comes as no surprise that I love my regular yoga and meditation practice. In a ‘perfect’ world, I would have a dedicated space in the house for my practice. I’m envisaging a space which is light and airy, warm timber, large windows bringing in the greenery, the distinctive aroma of incense wafting through the air, with my mat and props all set and ready to go.

In reality, I practice yoga in the lounge room which I share with my family. My mat and props get put away every time. There is cheap carpet on the floor and in certain poses I end up hitting the window. At times, someone will walk through the lounge and disturb my flow.

This appears to be far removed from my ideal yoga space and yet it works. I celebrate my determination and resilience as I make it work despite the challenges. My yoga space is perfect for now.

Through the asana (physical posture) practice of yoga, I have come to accept the perfection of the imperfection of my body and being. There are certain poses which I cannot do, and that’s ok. There are days where my balance is not that great, and that’s ok. There are days when my practice is only ten minutes and that’s ok too.

Off the mat, I have come to accept that I am getting more wrinkles as I get older, my tummy will never be as flat as it was pre-children and some days I get tired more easily. That’s more than ok, because it’s testament to the fact that I have survived to my early fifties, that I have children and that I have notched up life experience and wisdom.

Acceptance of the authentic self is really about seeing the perfection in the imperfections. The more I cultivate self acceptance, the more I will be likely to accept others for their authenticity too.

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