However, even though I love observing people, much more than that, I love observing people while I interact with them. And this interaction with others continually changes my life. I have probably engaged in countless conversations, a word here, a talk there. In fact, these days one can have a conversation in several different ways, such as through email, instant messages, letters, faxes, beepers, phone calls and tele-communications. But most of all I enjoy the traditional old style of just being face to face with another person and exchanging a simple thought or two.
And this is the conversation I remember.
It was a hot day at the upper-state New York camp in the woods I was attending. Sitting inside the small craft room, we had both doors open in hopes that a breeze, any breeze would whip through the room and give us some deeply needed fresh air. Sitting on a wooden bench, I was observing a group of eight 15-year-old girls attempting to paint a plaque made out of plaster. Each plaque was identical, (for they were all made out of the same mold) consisting of four flowers, one in each corner of the rectangular plaque, with the word "PEACE" in large letters in the center. Above the letters there was a simple dove, and below the letters was a sun. I thought it was a rather simple arrangement and figured the teenagers would be too intellectually advanced for such a trivial task and would either scoff at the elementary craft at hand or finish quickly.
However, this was not the case. Each girl took to the job as carefully as if they had been commissioned to paint the mural in the Sistine Chapel. They conscientiously selected their brushes, mixed their colors until they got just the right hue and painted with great intricacy, patience and quiet skill. Since all of them painted fastidiously, everyone worked at around the same pace.
Except for one girl.
Watching her paint was simply amazing. She did not appear to be the most artistic out of the group, but her movements were as meticulous as that of a brain surgeon. Every stroke of her brush was painstakingly executed and she painted her plaque with a vision of perfection. Every splash of blue, red, and green was intended just for a specific spot and she endeavored to make each edge crisp and clean. None of her colors ran or sloppily blended into one another. The amount of patience she possessed to be able to do this was absolutely miraculous.
When everyone else was done painting their flowers, the background, and the sun, she was still on her third flower. She noticed that the other girls were painting faster than her, but it did not seem to matter at all. She appeared to be on a completely different time plane than they. She didn't care how long the job took, just as long as she devoted one-hundred percent of her precision and skill to the particular flower petal she was painting.
I wandered the room asking each girl why she had painted a certain letter green, or gave my advice on color choices. Coming to her plaque, I voiced my admiration on her great expanse of patience and asked her why she persisted in making such a seemingly easy task so time-consuming and precise. She replied saying she wanted her plaque to be perfect. I was so mesmerized by her slow, deliberate strokes that I sat watching for a few minutes in silence. I noticed that the cheap brush (one of those dime a dozen types) was not intricate enough for the perfect paint job she had in mind. The bristles were simply too thick, and some even clumped together. Because the paint brush wasn't fine enough, (and this was the smallest brush the meager craft room had to offer) the girl wouldn't be able to do a perfect job. And it was then that I stated, despite her efforts, the edge of one of her flowers wasn't painted perfectly in a straight line. Sure, it was much better compared to the rest of the girls' work, but the flower still wasn't perfect. That was when it came. She shrugged her shoulders and said in the most sincere tone,
"Well, you know, life isn't perfect."
And that was the best conversation I have ever had. Just in that short exchange of words, my view on the world changed and that girl had taught me a lesson I treasure and carry with me to this day.
Everyone is given a life to live, each one different from the others. Some may choose to paint their lives with exciting reds and oranges. Others with peaceful blues and greens. However, when it comes down to it, it's the way I live my life that will count. I've always been one to aspire to goals and try for the best, at times even showing some perfectionist tendencies. But through this 15 year old girl, I was able to realize that it's okay to try for perfection, be on a different plane than everyone else and devote one-hundred percent of my care and skill even though I know I won't make it.
Situations arise in my life when I see that despite my efforts, there's a "clumpy paintbrush" in the way that I can't possibly overcome. But facing those tough situations I'm able to have the thought of knowing I'm beat but being able to try anyway. To stand strong to my convictions to do well and not compromise even though reality shows that I won?t be able to reach my ultimate objective ever. Because this is what I treasure and strive to live by, I admire those around me who live life this way as well.
Observing others can be inspiring, but one can't always sit on the sidelines and just observe. I learned that I have to make the most of life--ask questions, interact, so that I can look back later remembering what I have experienced and say,
"Yeah, that was the best conversation I have ever had."
--karen chiang fall of 2000