A while back I drove to a friend’s mountain cabin near West Jefferson, North Carolina, for ten days to get my novel jump-started. I had dabbled with the story for a while, writing a sparse scene here and there, but I needed uninterrupted time to kick it off.
Writer friends had warned me to decompress for a day or two before diving into writing. I took their advice to the extreme. By the fifth day, after pointless research and making meaningless notes, I finally stopped avoiding the blank page and sat down to get serious. But in the mountain quiet, doubt filled my head versus words filling the pages. Who was I kidding? Did I truly have the writing chops to pen a novel? How could I make this book fly with my limited experience and flawed discipline? Even if I finished a chunk of the book in the dwindling days, how would it be possible to return to a hectic world to complete it given my packed schedule and the constant obstacles that life seemed to consistently hurl at me?
I sat on the deck that day with pen and paper under a late April sun and instead of pushing through to make it work, I focused on my flaws as a writer and the imperfect writing environment that awaited back home. At the end of the day I only had some meandering scribble.
By the middle of the sixth day, I could stare no longer at the tangle of words I’d written so I grabbed my camera and drove to a nearby hiking trail to walk off my frustration. Taking photos of nature relaxes me. If I couldn’t find the perfect words, then maybe I’d find the perfect shots. The trail I discovered wound upward under dense tree canopies and though thick rhododendrons. It eventually spilled into a small clearing where a tremendous boulder floated in lush grass. A hollow area on top of the boulder held several gallons of rainwater like an ancient cistern that might have been carved out by early man. I stood for a few moments to soak in the scene until a large yellow and black butterfly caught my attention as it fluttered near the clearing’s edge.
I’ve always been fascinated by the transformative nature of butterflies and knew they would play a role in my novel. Seeing the winged creature energized me. I snapped a few shots with my camera even as the distance showed nothing more than a yellow and black blur in the viewfinder. I moved closer for a better shot, but the butterfly changed direction and flitted away, bobbling up a wide, inclined path beyond me that seemed to lead right into a blue sky billowing with white clouds. I followed. After cresting the ridge, the path opened to an unexpected sight, a vast meadow of green and gold.
The butterfly moved fast, hugging the edge of the meadow near the trees as I gave chase for my perfect photo. But the little creature was hard to catch, and it ran me all over the meadow until I had to give up and rest. When I stopped, the butterfly floated down onto a nearby rhododendron. I wanted to move closer, but lifted my camera first to snap a photo before the creature took to the sky again. As I zoomed the lens to frame the butterfly on its green perch, disappointment set in. The butterfly’s left wing had a huge chunk torn away, almost half of it missing.
So much for my perfect shot.
I snapped a few shots anyway, then lowered the camera to walk right up to the butterfly, not caring now if it flew off. It didn’t. As I stopped a few feet away to study it, the disappointment intensified. But this time the feeling had nothing to do with the butterfly. This time the disappointment was squarely aimed back at me.
For one, shame on me for being disappointed the butterfly wasn’t perfect, for seeing the broken wing through jaded eyes that could not recognize with sheer awe the butterfly’s power to not only lift into the sky and soar, but to lead me on a spirited chase. And two, for questioning myself, for doubting that I could also lift off and fly with my own flawed wings.
Humbled, I raised the camera and snapped a few reverent shots of the beautiful creature, one I now saw as perfect in its own way. After I finished my hike and returned to the cabin, as the late afternoon sun slipped behind a far mountain, I wrote well into the night and all of the next day. And the next. And the next.
When people refuse to let flaws ground them, there’s no limit to what they can accomplish.
Since then, I’ve taken many photos of “perfect” butterflies. But to me, not a single one has been as beautiful.

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Thanks, Valerie. We're all guilty of focusing on what's wrong with ourselves, at least at some point in our lives. Much better to focus on what is "right" about ourselves. Thanks for commenting.
I loved this post. It is a beautiful reminder that we all have our perceived flaws, and that in spite of them, or what we THINK of them, we are all "perfect" because of who we are. That is all that we need.
This also offered me a renewed sense of hope because I have been focusing on what I perceive to be "wrong" with me, and I know that because of those thoughts, I have not stretched and extended beyond my own limiting sense of what I can do and who I am.
Thank you!
Valerie Sargent,
Jan 19, 2012
https://thefigleaf.net/
Kind words, Melody. I appreciate them.
Finally, after the nagging awareness that I was more behind on reading your blog than ever before, I decided to read today. And I'm glad I didn't read it before now! Your insight is universal and profound, and I love your ability to look for – and share – your lessons. I can't decide whether I like your story more, or the photo. Which is breathtaking… though perhaps even more so in context. Thank you!
Thanks for the nice compliment, Jules. I have really learned over the last few years that the flaws are what makes us special, and embracing them propels us so much further than perfection ever could.
I look forward to you visiting the site in the future.
I always find your posts "soulful", creating a deeper understanding of who I am. Embracing flaws can allow one to free themselves and be content with who we are in life and perhaps even "shine" and "soar" personally and professionally.
Thanks and hope to see more of your posts in 2012.
Jules
Bill, Stephanie, and Erika,
Great to "see" you all on here and thank you. Stephanie, good luck with that book!
Perfect story to show that although we may be flawed physically, we are all beautiful! Thanks for writing!
I am about to come to the end of my research on Pushed to the Corner. I was beginning to have doubts about myself and my ability to write and put this book together. Your words are encouraging to me. Thank you!
From an imperfect butterfly wing…to a perfectly profound observation! Great column, as usual, Chris. Thanks.
Thanks, Katherine and Tony. I'm glad people get something out of my writing, but always know I write it just as much for myself as others, meaning I'm always in need of reminding! 🙂
The mind is a treacherous ally, exposing problems that only exist in our mind so we believe that we need it to solve problems. This keeps us focused on the problem instead of being in the present to enjoy what is there before us. You learned a valuable lesson my friend. Thank you for the reminder.
I really love this story! Gave me a wave of relief just now with its reminder that one does not have to be perfect to be absolutely wonderful. Free to create, free to love, free to be me. 🙂 Blessings!
Glad you liked it, Hunter.
I love it! We all need reminders that its okay to be perfectly human now and then. Thanks for the reminder. hp