Kim Kimberlin is a writer and photographer currently residing along the west coast of North America. Her work is motivated by human connection, deep feelings and the ways in which we interact with the world around us.

Imperfect Puzzle Pieces

Kim Kimberlin

I could not describe to you my writing process, except, that,
I can only seem to truly write when I’m listening to music. 
It’s the flow, the melody, that guides my thoughts along, releasing them from my soul.

We’re not perfect. I’m not perfect, you’re not perfect, he’s not perfect, they aren’t perfect. I don’t understand why we let perfection consume us when,
perfection is boring. It is utterly boring.

Two of my dearest girlfriends both recently celebrated long term anniversaries with their men. I love hearing of these anniversaries… Three years, five years, six and a half years, 28 years, 52 years, 66 years. Our marriage therapist says on his website that him and his wife “have been happily married for 16 of 17 years – year #8 was pretty rough.” And I love that. I love that so much. 

I love that so much because perfection is utterly and profoundly boring. Perfection can look like a number, but it’s not about the number. It’s not three, five, six, 28, 52 or 66. It’s not about how long someone makes it, it’s about making it. Making it, day to day, through all of life’s complexities. Whether as a couple, or as an individual. 

I love the laughing. I love the crying. I love the adventures. I love the hardships. I love it all. I don’t always love it in the moment, but I love these moments as a collection of something larger. There are the ugly pieces and the pretty pieces. We’re each puzzles. With dull shapes, colorful shapes, abstract shapes, simple shapes, dark shapes, light shapes. We’re puzzle-like shapes that when scattered, can look quite messy, but when taking each individual piece, intentionally, and slowly putting it together into a larger puzzle, it really is quite beautiful. 

Every piece matters. Every moment, every day, every interaction. Our moods, our mental illness, our bodies, our broken bodies, our thoughts, our movements, our very being. They matter. They make up something greater. They are far from perfect. 

But they are real and alive and shaping something large and vast and beautiful and never-ending. 
Spirits, memories, memorabilia. 

The song is over now. 
I leave these words. 
I go out into the world, collecting more words, moments, memories, tucking them away, quietly, intimately, waiting.

Baghdad, Beirut and Paris

Begin with the end in mind.