I have made my life's work a habit of writing things in random places and forgetting about it. Some of my most important thoughts have been memorialized on scraps of paper, countless unfilled notebooks and flash drives. While a scattershot approach to developing a body of literature, it occasionally has the benefit of providing me with moments of retrospect at unexpected, yet entirely appropriate, moments. At such moments, I often find messages of hope in bottles set adrift from the distant shores of my past. Today, in desperate need of a missive of forgotten wisdom, I found this:
| Some days we find beautiful The way the wind swirls scattered paper, The way the sun sits precisely so on a fencepost. Some days we find ways to find beautiful The happy family behind the screaming child, The blessings set in silhouette by sadness. Some days beautiful finds us Sitting so close, hanging words on every second We have left. On days like these, Beautiful happens On us without warning or fanfare And we are unaware there is more to it than us, That we are not alone together, That there is weather and wind and sadness. Some days, on days just like this, We exist within, without and beyond What could have been Beautiful. |
A poem from another time, posted with others on the tritest of websites, but relevant nonetheless. It reminds me I am thankful for the moments in the past week when, despite my struggles, Beautiful has happened upon me sitting in a dark place. Loving gestures from my wife. Affectionate words from friends. More importantly, it reminds me I have said things that have mattered...that still matter, even when taken in a different context. I have done many things badly, but I take comfort in this one thing: that I have always been good at finding beauty in the damnedest places.
So it is I find myself, recommitted to finding Beautiful again. Soon. Perhaps now.
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