Greater minds than mine have argued what is considered truly beautiful is not up for debate – some works are objectively beautiful. They are transformative. Handel’s Messiah, Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, the love poetry of Rumi, or the smile of your own baby. If one fails to see the beauty in these things one has truly failed, for they are gifts from God that renew the spirit.
My quest to surround myself with profound beauty is somewhat less aspirational. I find the deepest joy in the look of tempered triumph on my teenager’s face when he beats me at chess. I am moved by the incomprehensible musical stylings of my older son’s musical compositions (if you’re over 50 and understand EDM, please let me know how). The random flower that struggles through a crack in the pavement outside my loft fascinates me. The florid sunset that bursts forth in advance of rain will have me standing stupefied long after the clouds have opened up and drenched me. True beauty is all around us. From the bottle of an amazing perfume to the curve of a woman’s neck, I’m captivated by it all. Captured by the moments and memories of so many things, I live a life of my own personal luxury. In my own small way, I live well.
I’ve often told my kids, “Gratitude and humility are the secret sauce of life.” I’ve said it so much, along with “Live with Attention, Intention and Effort,” that they’ve threatened to have it carved on my tombstone, which is fine. I’ll stand behind those words (or perhaps lay under them).
Being grateful – true gratitude – is the currency by which we buy all the good in life and make it our own.
Some would suggest that one must live long enough or suffer deeply enough to find gratitude in everyday things. I disagree. I’ve known a young man who felt and expressed such authentic appreciation over a simple omelette that one would think he’d been delivered the very moon and stars.