At a recent professional development gathering, the facilitator posed an unusual challenge: “Try sending an email with an intentional typo this week.” The collective gasp in the room made me smile in recognition—because I, too, know that visceral clutch of perfectionism. It’s ironic, really. My work revolves around teaching presence and self-compassion, yet when it comes to my own vocation, that old familiar tension creeps in: the need to get things just right.
This tendency resurfaced recently while rearranging my Zoom background. Last year, I had carefully curated my virtual space with a lush Tropic Snow plant, only to watch it outgrow its spot. My replacement—a spiky little cactus my husband brought home from a neighboring taco stand—seemed perfect. I spent an hour transplanting it: selecting premium soil, maneuvering around its defensive spines, whispering encouragement as I settled it into an elegant ceramic pot. But when I placed it on the shelf, my stomach dropped. The cactus leaned stubbornly to the right.
As I added “fix crooked cactus” to my to-do list, the irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was—a teacher of self-compassion—obsessing over a plant’s posture. The discomfort felt achingly familiar. During my previous career as an advocate, I had sometimes worn myself out trying to meet impossible standards. Now, in my mindfulness practice, I recognized the same old pattern: that nagging voice insisting everything must be perfect before I could feel at ease.
The universe, it seems, has a sense of humor. That same week, I attended the Wisdom for Life “Power of Love Summit” (3–9 June), a gathering in which Buddhist teachers, scientists, and relationship specialists explored love’s many dimensions through their unique lenses. The summit opened with Tara Brach, psychologist, author, and renowned spiritual teacher, who shared a poignant story about her community’s “Leaning Buddha.” When they discovered the statue’s off-center casting, they didn’t return it or hide it away. Instead, they embraced it as their sangha’s icon: a gentle reminder that we all have what she calls “imperfect casts.”
“We called ourselves the Community of the Leaning Buddhas,” she explained, her voice warm with amusement. The truth is, we all have our leans; those habitual tendencies toward anxiety, defensiveness, or perfectionism that might embarrass us. But these aren’t personal failures, she emphasized, just the natural accumulation of our conditioning. The path isn’t about correcting these leans, but learning to meet them with “kindness and forgiveness.” It’s only when we stop resisting them that we uncover our capacity for joy, real connection, and the profound freedom of true acceptance.
Her words struck a deep chord. I looked at my cactus anew, not as a problem to solve, but as a mirror. How often had I treated myself like that plant? As a mindfulness coach, I sometimes feel compelled to present as someone who “has it all together.” Yet my clients, like me, don’t need perfection; they need permission to be exactly as they are, spines and all.
The theme of unconditional acceptance deepened as Jack Kornfield of Spirit Rock and Trudy Goodman of Insight LA—beloved partners in both life and the Dharma—turned their attention to intimate relationships. With characteristic humor, Kornfield shared his favorite metaphor from decades of officiating weddings: the “as is” signs on used car lots. He suggested that real love begins when we stop comparing our partner to an imaginary upgrade. Before exchanges vows, he routinely invites couples to gaze at one another and ask if they take each other exactly as they are.
His point was simple yet profound: authentic connection flourishes when we cherish the whole human before us—their vulnerabilities alongside their strengths, their quirks balanced with their challenges. This radical acceptance, he explained, builds the foundation love needs to weather life’s storms.
That “as is” philosophy now guides both my cactus and my coaching. The plant remains happily crooked on my shelf, a daily reminder that healing begins when we stop trying to straighten what was never meant to be rigid. Now, when I notice myself tensing over a typo or an imperfect session, I glance at my spiky teacher and breathe. In the Buddha’s teachings, this is tathata: the liberating acceptance of reality as it is.
As a mindfulness coach guiding others through self-acceptance, I cherish the reminder that the most transformative spaces do not require a flawless backdrop, just an honest one. My clients don’t connect with my curated self; they resonate with the human who still meets her own “imperfect casts” with curiosity. Like Tara Brach’s leaning statue, my crooked cactus has become our unexpected teacher, inviting us to embrace our shared humanity with tenderness. After all, the Buddha didn’t teach enlightenment as the elimination of flaws, but as the freedom of no longer believing we need to be fixed.
Nina Müller is a Mindfulness Teacher who offers online mindfulness coaching sessions. If you would like to find out more, please visit The Mindful Practice to book a complimentary consultation.
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