Imperfections are not blemishes that render someone incomplete. Rather, they are avenues to a quiet display of courage, an act of heroism. This act is not in regard to dramatic triumph, nor in a defiant rebellion, but instead the choice to enter a room of uncertainty. To me, this looks like walking into Paresky Commons, unsure of how I seem to others, being hesitant to share controversial ideas in discussion, and exposing myself to the gaze of others. But looking at this sense of distress from a philosophical point of view, it can be revealed that growth is spurred only within these moments of discomfort.
Several philosophers assert that humans have always had the natural inclination to focus on their own perspectives, and anchor all of their thoughts and opinions with their own internal state. They explain that this is due to our instinctual desire to be accepted as a part of a group for a more likely chance of survival. While reading Hannah Arendt’s The Human Condition, I learned that we naturally long to belong in a community because we must be among others for our identities to unfold. To disclose oneself is to open oneself to interpretation, which in turn acts as an opportunity for one to also discover one’s own self. Yet, naturally, this exposure generates anxiety. By revealing our authentic selves, we are also susceptible to be seen, evaluated, and misread by our friends, our teachers, and the rest of the world. I was terrified by the idea that my actions, views, and character were all points of judgment that the people around me would use to evaluate my value as a person. My research into this topic stemmed from my own fear that I would forever live afraid of the gaze of others.
Many Andover students choose to shape their identities to fit the mold of conventionality by speaking only when articulate, acting only when confident, and participating only as a collective. Such self-curation promises safety in reducing unpredictability and allows us to manage the narrative our peer students construct about us. However, the perceived safety achieved through this concealment carries a cost. Refusing to engage in life without a perfected identity is to refuse living at all. Existential philosophy insists that existence precedes essence. We as humans are not finished beings who have already achieved a flawless form. Rather, we are formless, waiting to become something more through action. Imperfection is not a deviation from being; it is the process of becoming.
While researching this pressure to seem perfect I came across Frederick Nietzsche, who argued that to be human is to overcome. He believed that as a human, we should not aim to maintain our being, but rather focus on becoming a better version of ourselves every day. In a similar sense, I believe that to demand perfection before participation reflects a misunderstanding of the structure of growth. Growth is iterative; in unfolding through trial, error, and revision, humans sculpt themselves with the chisel of perpetual exploration. When we wait to contribute to a class discussion until we feel ready, we deny ourselves the formative experience of being argued against. Perfection, in contrast, is static; it is an image fixed in time. In the first place, it is impossible for a human to be perfect. If we refuse to take any chances until we feel perfectly ready, it is likely we will never step outside of our comfort zone. Even worse, if we live believing that we are perfect, we will never welcome growth or development. Thus, the most authentic individuals welcome risk and engage deliberately with their incompleteness.
This raised another question in my mind. “If we are shaped by our flaws, will our mistakes always weigh us down?” I have realized that it is irrational to fear that others will define us by a single moment, because this fear assumes that perception is permanent. Throughout my life, I have failed far more than I have succeeded. Yet, the people around me have never called me out for a mistake I made several years ago. This is because human memory is fluid, and evaluations can shift. Our choices can easily transform the opinions of others, and only by embracing one’s flawed existence can one form genuine connections with others, without superficial interaction, but with an honest moment of acceptance between two individuals. To me, appearing imperfect is an act of trust that the rest of the world recognizes that I am more than my mistakes or my shortcomings, because it is in those moments of imperfection that the person I am is shaped. Every hesitant word spoken, every misstep taken, and all of our flaws are a part of a larger story that defines our character. To pull back in search of perfection is to stay frozen, to remain untouched by the very events that create a sense of self. To exert a presence, even when imperfect, is to accept the process of becoming.
To live fully among others is to accept exposure. Exposure not as humiliation, but as an openness towards our immeasurable promise as individuals. We cannot control interpretation, but we can control our acceptance of it. In finding the courage to appear imperfect, we ultimately develop the courage to exist in honesty. The next time you walk into a room, don’t hesitate to speak up even if you don’t feel perfectly ready. At Andover, we are often illusioned with the idea that we are evaluated by our achievements, whether that be our grades, sports teams, or orchestras. But when we allow these “flaws” to restrict us from expressing our identities in their entirety, we lose the most authentic versions of ourselves. Perfection may promise admiration and comfort, but imperfection permits participation. And participation is where life unfolds.
