When we see something we recognize as perfect, we often recoil even as we marvel at its beauty. But why is perfection so intimidating? Is it because we know how much work goes into achieving it? Is it because we know it's always just out of reach? Or is it just another impossible standard?
There's something almost unnatural about perfection. We need to see the warts on the frog to know it's real, you know? It's hard to trust anything that doesn't have a feel of being weathered or tussled, and without even slight flaws. When things get too close to perfect, it can be scary.
