I remember when I was given the task of creating a completely new website for the company. It was an incredible experience, but also my own personal hell. As someone who had (and still has) a serious tendency toward perfectionism, I was literally driving myself crazy. Even in the final version, I kept finding tiny "mistakes." The website was finally launched, everyone was thrilled, and me? I sat there thinking, "It could have been better." When my team completed our last website a few years ago, I simply looked at it and said, "It's great. Publish it." Even though my brain kept coming up with all kinds of suggestions, I simply ignored them. It took me time to learn that projects are not a straight line. Delays, mistakes, and version "2.0" are part of real development, not a sign of failure. Instead of postponing a launch until everything is "perfect," it is far better to release a good version and improve it along the way.
Perfectionism is still there. I have simply learned that it doesn't always have to have the last word. Still, from time to time, I have to let my loud Southern girl out. The one who reminds me that life isn't measured by perfect plans, but by the sea you didn't make time to look at, the tea you drank in the sunshine, and the people you happened to laugh with along the way. Maybe that is the closest to perfection we will ever find.
Read next: What if breaking is the beginning of strength? A Kintsugi Leadership Story
In one of my previous articles, I wrote about kintsugi - the art of repairing broken pottery with gold. But while exploring Japan, I came across another concept: wabi-sabi. If kintsugi is the art of embracing brokenness, then wabi-sabi is the philosophy that gave it meaning. Wabi-sabi teaches us how to look at imperfection, while kintsugi shows us how to transform it into something valuable and visible.
The history of wabi-sabi is fascinating because it did not emerge overnight. It evolved over centuries. Its roots lie in Mahāyāna Buddhism, while the Zen tradition, which arrived in Japan from China during the 12th and 13th centuries, profoundly shaped the aesthetics of wabi-sabi. The word wabi originally referred to simplicity and a life of solitude, while sabi represented coldness and the marks left by time. Over time, these meanings blossomed into something beautiful: wabi became the beauty of a simple and modest life, while sabi became the beauty of age, patina, and transience.
Wabi-sabi truly flourished during the 15th and 16th centuries through the Japanese tea ceremony. Zen monk Murata Shukō, followed later by the legendary tea master Sen no Rikyū, turned away from the luxury of expensive Chinese porcelain and introduced rough, handmade pottery instead. In doing so, they sent a simple yet powerful message: beauty does not have to be luxurious to be real. It can be quiet, humble, and imperfect. Even today, whenever I have a cup of tea -even if it's made from a tea bag -I understand that message. The cup is not what matters. Stopping is.
Today, wabi-sabi is often described as a philosophy that teaches us to embrace imperfection, transience, simplicity, and the natural ageing of people and things. Modern culture often convinces us that our worth depends on how perfect we are. Wabi-sabi teaches exactly the opposite: we are worthy even when we are imperfect. In fact, imperfection does not diminish our value; the marks left by life are often what make us authentic.
Perhaps no Japanese tradition reflects wabi-sabi more beautifully than the traditional autumn custom of Tsukimi - moon viewing. A tradition that brings together nature, aesthetics, poetry, and gratitude for the autumn harvest. It arrived from China during the Heian period (794–1185), when the Japanese imperial court adopted many Chinese cultural traditions.
Unlike the West, where we try to "capture" beauty - to photograph it, own it, frame it, in Japan, the Moon is observed, experienced, and then allowed to pass. More than that, in traditional aesthetics, people often did not look directly at the Moon, but at its reflection in a lake or in a cup of sake. Beauty was not found in possessing the object, but in the fleeting impression it left behind.
The Japanese even have a word for a feeling many of us know but struggle to describe: mono no aware - a gentle melancholy and an awareness that everything is beautiful precisely because it is fleeting. Like a cherry blossom.
As leaders, we often cling tightly to projects, titles, current successes, or old ways of working. Tsukimi and wabi-sabi teach us an important lesson: value lies in the experience and in the moment, not in possession and control.
Just as we cannot keep the full Moon in the sky, we cannot hold on to a perfect, unchanging moment in life or in business. The next time you catch yourself postponing the launch of a project because "it could be just a little better," remember the rough, imperfect tea cup.
Read next: Shikata Ga Nai: The Japanese Philosophy of Letting Go Without Giving Up
Maybe the perfect moment will never come. Maybe that is exactly why we should begin today. Because, just as wabi-sabi and kintsugi teach us, what leaves a lasting mark is not perfection. It is the courage to create something despite our own cracks. Pause for a moment, embrace the imperfection of the moment, and let your first version out into the world. Because true strength and beauty are often born only after things become a little chipped.