Loving Our Imperfection. Dumbfounded, I stared at the gaping hole in horror. My cleaning crew had inadvertently poked a hole through the leg of my treasured antique papier-maché mannequin. This piece is more than a pretty artifact; it’s a metaphor for my life.

Four foot tall, it depicts a young man, and it’s painted gold; I call it “The Golden Boy.” To me, it represents the young man I felt my parents wanted me to be: Eagle Scout, altar boy, straight-A student. I was none of those things, and I felt I disappointed them.

My mannequin also represents the part of me that strives to be what I think others expect of me: smart, successful, empathetic.… The list goes on in my mind. The truth is, at times I am those things, but at other times I’m not. In fact, I’m just as capable of being the opposite. I can be empathetic and insensitive. Generous and stingy. Insightful and clueless.

The Golden Boy reminds me that our image is a fleeting façade, and that True Self is strongly wedged in the tension between opposites. As my dear friend Ruth likes to say, “We are ‘both-and’ people in an ‘either-or’ world.”

I’ve already called an art restorer to repair The Golden Boy, but I’m worried the patch will show. Then again, maybe it would be a good thing if it does. Maybe I’ll learn to love my golden boy, wounds and all.