I’m not sure if it’s the guitar or myself these days, but I’ve been a bit obsessed. I’ve touched on this topic here and there in some of my posts—my followers may have noticed. The latest thing I’ve realized is this: some songs are just naturally difficult. I know the technique; I need to play them slowly and let them sink into my muscle memory so I can play that song well. Even though I know all this, whenever I start noticing my flaws more often, I immediately give up practicing that song. When that happens, I end up being able to play most songs half-heartedly, but I can’t pull off a truly amazing performance from start to finish.
Anyway, I’m not going to tell my entire guitar story here, but I wanted to share this because I thought it was relevant to the topic of flaws.
Of course, I couldn’t fix my flaw right away when I noticed it, so I started thinking about it: do we really have to correct every flaw?
First of all, we have to accept that there’s no such thing as perfection.
Not a person, not a job, not a work of art. There’s always some flaw, some imperfection, some deviation in all of them. But we’ve been taught since childhood that a flaw is something that must be corrected. It’s always the same cycle: find the mistake, fix it, don’t do it again.
Yet a flaw is often just a difference that deviates from the norm. And the deviation itself isn’t inherently a bad thing.
In Japanese aesthetics, this is called wabi-sabi: the beauty of the imperfect, the incomplete, and the transient. A cracked bowl, an asymmetrical cup, weathered wood. From this perspective, the flaw isn’t hidden—on the contrary, it’s made visible. Because the flaw carries the object’s story. (1*)
There’s a similar narrative in our culture as well. It is said that in the Ottoman Empire, some master artisans intentionally left a small imperfection in their works, because perfection belongs solely to the Creator. I don’t know how true this story is, but I really like the idea behind it: an imperfection isn’t a flaw—it can be a sign of humility.
Now let’s get to the main question: since not every flaw is something that needs to be fixed, which ones will we fix, and which ones will we embrace?
I think there are two types of flaws.
Some flaws slow us down, limit us, and make us hit the same wall over and over again. Like my “stuck notes” on the guitar. No one calls this “Cenk’s guitar playing style”—it’s just a mistake. If I want to play the guitar well, I need to correct them.
Other flaws, however, are what make us who we are. A color, a texture, a deviation that no one else has. These are the ones we should embrace.
So how do we tell the difference?
To make this distinction, I ask myself this question: Does that flaw take me to a better place than where I am, or does it keep me stuck in one place?
If it takes me there, it’s better for me to accept it as my signature. If it keeps me stuck in one place, it’s a mistake.
Now let me give an example from music, because this concept is most clearly seen there.
For example, Amy Whinehouse’s voice is a bit hoarse. Lana Del Rey’s voice is a bit extra husky. If we were to bring both of them in front of a classical voice coach, they might say, “Let’s sing this part like this, let’s correct that part like that.” Because technically speaking, these are deviations.
But they didn’t correct them. They kept singing with that voice. For years, thousands of times, performance after performance, recording after recording.
And at a certain point, that “flaw” stopped being a flaw and became their signature. Today, the moment we hear that voice on the radio, we know who it is. We don’t even need to see their name.
I think there’s something being overlooked here. It’s not the flaw itself that turns it into a signature—it’s the fact that it was repeated thousands of times.
In its raw form, a flaw is just a rough edge. As it’s refined, it becomes character.
But the same mechanism works in the opposite direction, too. And that’s where it gets a bit frustrating.
Let’s say a person is constantly late to their appointments. At first, this just seems like a behavior. They’re late once, twice, three times.
But as it repeats, first those around them start to see it as a trait: “Never mind, they’re always late anyway.” Then they start saying the same thing to themselves: “That’s just how I am—what can I do?”
And right at that moment, the behavior turns into character.
I think this transformation is very dangerous. Because behavior is something that can be changed, but character seems unchangeable. There’s a huge difference between “I’m late” and “I’m the kind of person who’s always late.” The first is an action; the second is a fate.
Psychologist Carol Dweck has studied this topic for many years. According to her, people either have a fixed mindset about their abilities (“This is who I am; it won’t change”) or a growth mindset (“This is how it is now, but I can improve”). And this isn’t just a difference in attitude—it actually changes the outcome. (2*)
The flaw in a singer’s voice becomes part of their identity through repetition, just as the flaw of someone who is always late does. Both follow the same mechanism.
But there’s this difference: one was chosen, the other wasn’t. One was shaped, the other merely reinforced.
So the transformation of a flaw into an identity is inevitable. Choosing which flaw will transform is up to us.
Awareness comes into play right here.
Because a flaw we’re not aware of shapes us without asking. We don’t do anything extra; it settles in on its own and takes root.
The moment we become aware of it, a door opens. And behind that door, a question awaits us: Will we process this and make it our signature, or will we confront it and change it?
Both require the same thing: a cycle. Noticing, taking action, seeing the result, repeating it if we’re satisfied, or changing it if we’re not.
In fact, there’s a cycle even without awareness. But that cycle always brings us back to the same place. The cycle built on awareness, however, lifts us a little higher with each round. Even if it seems like we’re going around in circles, it’s actually like a spiral staircase.
By the way, there’s an idea I really love regarding repetition—I can’t let this post go by without sharing it.
Russian physiologist Nikolai Bernstein noticed the following while studying movement: when we repeat a movement thousands of times, we’re not actually repeating the exact same movement. Each time, we’re solving the same problem in a slightly different way. He called this “non-repetitive repetition.” (3*)
This makes a lot of sense to me. I play the same guitar riff a hundred times, but none of them is an exact copy of the others. Each time, my fingers find a slightly different path. And that effort to find that path is, in itself, the very act of learning.
So what we call “repetition” isn’t copying. It’s rediscovering it each time.
That’s where consistency really comes into play.
Correcting a flaw doesn’t happen in a single try, nor does a flaw turn into a signature in a single day. Both require the same thing: looking in the same direction for a long time.
Amy Whinehouse didn’t become Amy Whinehouse overnight. My “stuck moments” on the guitar won’t be fixed in a week either.
I think consistency is the ability to keep going when your motivation runs out. And most things are determined right there—where motivation runs out.
Once again, I’d like to share these exercises I’ve prepared for myself with you:
Take something you consider a flaw in yourself and ask: Is this taking me somewhere, or is it keeping me stuck in one place?
Think of a trait that others criticize in you. Is it really a flaw, or just a difference?
Catch a sentence you say about yourself that starts with “I’m like this.” Rewrite that sentence as “I’m doing this right now” and see how it makes you feel.
For a flaw you’re trying to correct, count how many times you’ve repeated it. Maybe you haven’t repeated it enough yet.
Consciously address a flaw you’ve internalized. Don’t hide it—work through it.
Find a “flaw” in someone you admire. That’s probably what makes them who they are.
While writing this, I realized something: there are some things I’ve been trying to fix in myself for years, and I think some of them weren’t meant to be fixed at all.
Some were truly mistakes; I needed to address them. But some were just part of who I am. And every time I tried to fix them, I was actually erasing a little bit of myself.
Now I’m trying to tell the difference. Of course, I don’t always get it right. But at least I’m asking the right question now.
I’d like to ask you, too: Is there a flaw you’ve been trying to fix for years? Are you sure it really needs fixing, or have you just not worked through it enough yet?
See you in the next post. Until then, stay well.
(1*) Leonard Koren, Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers (1994)
(2*) Carol S. Dweck, *Mindset: The New Psychology of Success* (2006)
(3*) Nikolai A. Bernstein, *The Co-ordination and Regulation of Movements* (1967)
