Verified by 
Key points
- We can find beauty in the most mundane events of our days.
- The little things are what help us define beauty.
- Children help us to find simple beauty.
"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not." –Ralph Waldo Emerson
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence. –Oriah Mountain Dreamer, The Invitation
The consideration of beauty in these simple quotes is a gentle nudge for me to define the beauty I carry within. Beauty provides me joy, adding the reds and purples, blues and golds to the black-and-white scenes of my daily life.
Beautiful: “I miss you, Nana,” are words of beauty spoken by a grandchild, for they are pure and innocent with no ulterior motive than to share their immediate emotion. Other words of equal beauty for my grandmother-ears: “Let’s play Eye Spy With My Little Eyes.” “Nana, your arms are squishy like play dough.” And, an introduction to meet a friend, “That’s my Nana.” The emphasis on "my" adds yet another bright color to my day. An unsolicited hug by a nonhugger little one is just magnificent energy for my soul.
Beautiful: Walking down the broken sidewalks of our neighborhood, seeing tree roots that slowly lift the cement forcing uneven strides and unsightly, dangerous broken pieces to trip over. My four-and-a-half-year-old grandson sees the cracks as perfect adventures. “Look, Nana! Let’s find bigger lines and cracks. They are fun!” Something I see as broken becomes exquisite, for to young eyes, such damage represents an unconquered adventure. Suddenly I am excited to point out what I gingerly step over and what was once so unseemly to my old eyes.
Beautiful: A melting ice cream cone, with the vanilla oozing down the sides, onto a little hand whose fingers hold this cone for the first time. He doesn’t know the art of licking all around the cone to keep it from dripping so instead he finds joy in licking each finger that contains the melted vanilla. I see stickiness and a mess until my older view is replaced with the joyful beauty of a melting ice cream cone on tiny hands that will one day (soon) be larger than mine.
Beautiful: My husband Paul of 48 years returns home from his morning outing with my favorite chocolate bridge mix, full of tiny chocolate-covered nuts, raisins, and chewy, crunchy treats. I love my chocolate, and I love that my husband remembers me in this way. What can be more beautiful today?
Beautiful: My sister-in-law, Marilyn, my best friend, my true sister, my moral compass, my North Star, the bright blue in my life’s black-and-white images. Hearing her voice at the other end of the phone despite the 400 miles that separates us completed my day even at 8:00 a.m. Despite her catastrophic diagnosis and the deterioration of her health, her inner beauty of gratitude shone through her words: “We are so lucky, you and I, Barbara. Not many sisters share a friendship like ours.” I carry these words within, especially grateful for having had all these shared conversations while she was still alive.
Beautiful: The realization that I am a compilation of my little-girl past and my old-age present. I carry my childhood home within, often revisiting the various upstairs rooms, where I spent my formative years before I left for college, never to return. The comfort of the linoleum yellow kitchen with the matching Formica table; the early-morning coffee smells; my mother’s daily rests in her king-sized bed; my record player, with the Carpenters playing on a loop; my first Princess phone, talking to Michelle and Lori for hours. This is the beauty I hold within.
Beautiful: I’m tired, yet I know Molly desires her afternoon walk. I push myself wondering if she would even know if we skipped this walk (of course she would). As I close and lock our heavy, wooden dark brown front door, I am reenergized, experiencing Molly’s utter joy of the moment, that this walk is what she lives for, her sweet spot, the perfection of her life. Her beauty becomes my own. What was once my drudgery, becomes my joy, all through the beauty Molly holds within her that she so willingly shares with me.
Beautiful: The perfection of this 10-lb. furry child, entering my home office to lie in her bed just so she can see me. She makes that decision to walk down the hall from the den, to find me and settle in by my side in my favorite room. She wants to spend time with me because she loves me, as simple as that.
Beautiful: The barista knows me by the same triple-Americano-with-room, which I order a few times a week. He sees me come through the door and adds, “Barbara, I have your coffee ready for you.” I ask him his name. If he knows me, I should know him as well. Dusty adds much to my life with his smile and the acknowledgment of my name, and now I know his.
Beautiful: I am aging, but that’s OK, for I have another day to make what I will of my 24 hours. Babysitting (always my favorite joy); walking with Paul and Molly; talking to a dear friend; reaching out to my sons; reading on my swing chair in the backyard; writing at my desk. So much to do knowing there is beauty when I spend the time to see it.
