There is a spirit of perfection about this age, an inconsolable malcontent tireless spirit that demands perfection in everyone else – perfection in appearance, perfection in speaking, perfection in social ability, perfection, perfection, perfection. This is reflected in online culture, where people cajole others over typos, bad pictures, and obvious mistakes. Perfection is demanded in entertainment and in live performances, so that everything we consume and everything we demand be flawless. What so many are asking for is not perfection itself, though; what they really want is the fake.
Is not every movie made a lie? Every movie made never happened, yet the months spent in production and the millions spent now drive what people expect of other people and what they expect everyday life to be.
Yet in real life, people have hairs out of place. People have issues, problems, attitudes, perspectives. People have wounds, brokenness, insecurities — in short, imperfections. Is our culture and its social intercourse so fragile because people demand too much of others and do not know how to relate to something less than ideal? I suspect this drives the marriage age upward and impels the divorce rate. Yet seeking this perfection people will only create a train of wreckage in their own lives, and worse, they will never find it. They will have forgone what is good in the search for the artificial. They have cast aside humanity hoping to find humanity without flaw.
And in all this, few seek true perfection, which is found only in God. Few seek those striving for perfection spiritually. The perfection they seek is a manicured, polished, hair-bleached, skin-tightened, antidepressant, fit, glib, witty, shallow, bedazzling shallow appearance. This perfect is an ominimu-gatherum of the false, and those that find it find only those who are held together by little. That any relationships they form last as long as their hair dye should surprise no-one, but if life is only lived for the emotional highs, then the breakup and the discovery of one relationship after another gives them what they want – fleeting chemical reactions and something to discuss with their friends and acquaintances. What they will never have is something real, something honest, and something true. And this is the unnamed yearning that plagues them at night and dances around the edges of their coffee through their days.