How exciting is a perfectly set up room? A living room, bedroom, or kitchen that you walk into and there's nothing that needs adjustment? Nothing in that room that actually needs you?
Perfection is cool, it's a nice idea, but really, is it interesting? Which is more fun to watch, a diver in the Olympics, executing a flawless jump (which you can't really distinguish from the last one that got a 9.5), or a handstand into an open pike that unintentionally goes further into a belly flop?
I want a room that needs me, people that need me. I'm interested in all those nouns out there that need adjustment, including myself. Hence, this blog: Discussing Adjusting.
I will argue that perfection is not an objective state, but a relationship between object and subject. The perfect woman (or man) is not the same for everyone. My perfect woman is flawed because I am flawed. She's perfect, though, because of those flaws and not in spite of them.
Are you having trouble following? Good, I hope so. I want to talk about what things need adjustment, and how we adjust to these imperfect objects and situations as human beings. I will not slow down for you. I might explain, but only if the explanation interests me. Since I start with a basic idea that nothing worthwhile is perfect, I am free to talk about anything worthwhile here, which happens to be most things. I'm not asking you to understand everything perfectly, just try to keep up. Actually I'm not even asking for that, I think really all I'm asking for is indulgence (in both the Catholic and secular senses).
The briefest of backgrounds before closing tonight: I recently returned from two years of service in the Peace Corps. I mention it only as it relates, and for tonight that is because one of the biggest subjects during and after your service is Adjustment. In fact, the little wad of cash you get paid for being a volunteer (ironic but volunteering is certainly not free) is even called your "Readjustment Allowance."
Let's see where this takes us,
PS. I'm back! And I love it.