My guess is that for most people, our natural state is to see the beauty in everything, but then along the way it gets knocked out of us—maybe once in a big way; usually more subtly but repeatedly through the years. For me, being the slow learner I am, it was both.
I remember vividly when I began the process of learning that seeing the beauty just isn’t cool. I was in first grade, and I had my first best friend—a commanding, beautiful, older-than-her-years second grader named Michelle. I worshipped her. One day at recess, she decided that we were all stuck in a rut and we needed some new games and activities to keep things interesting. I was assigned the task of coming up with a list of cool things to do.
I threw myself into my mission with gusto. After school that day, I sat and stared out into the beautiful birch- and beech-filled woods behind my home, and wrote line after line of things we could do. I was in ecstasy just thinking of all the possibilities.
Michelle called that night, and I assured her I had a fabulous list that would keep us happy and busy for years into the future, and she sounded impressed. “Wow! Four pages?! I can’t wait to see it!”
The next day at school, I handed over my sheets of paper to Michelle with pride, and she and another girl, Paula, began reading from the list. “Gather different kinds of leaves? Learn about local birds? Look at the flowers?...” Michelle stopped reading and furrowed her brow. She wasn’t cruel; I could tell she was scanning the list for something - anything - that sounded like fun to her.
I was mortified, not only because I knew I’d disappointed her, but also because she tried to hide her disappointment, and because I felt all my utopian dreams from the evening before evaporate under the confused looks from my friends.
In short, I learned it just wasn’t cool to spend one’s time seeing the beauty in everything.
Of course, it only got worse in high school; nothing is cooler than the kid who rejects everything. If you’re having fun, it must mean that your standards are low, right?
Lucky for me, while I was in college, it got to the point where I craved my innocence-lost so badly that I decided things had to change. Nothing excited me anymore; nothing was new; everything disappointed. Crossing the street one day, a car came around the corner and I looked up and I saw it and I knew it might hit me and still, I kept walking. I didn’t speed up.
When I reached the curb safely, the car passing within inches of me, I realized something was very wrong. See, I wasn’t unhappy per se. I certainly wasn’t suicidal. I loved college; I was having the time of my life. And yet, I didn’t care. Everything was done. Nothing surprised me. And I remembered that I hadn’t always been like that. I had (like all children) delighted in everything. I decided that that was the real me, not this person who didn’t speed up to avoid a car because she thought that death might at least be more interesting. That day I decided to find my way back to delighting in life—in the little things and the big things, in the good and the ‘bad’.
I’m happy to report that 12 years later, I am much closer to my natural state. Friends laugh that I’m forever pointing out the moon, or the flowers, or the sunlight on the water, the smell of coffee, the taste of ice cream, how good it feels to stretch in the morning. We drive through a ‘bad’ section of LA, and I (not knowing any better) exclaim, “I love this neighborhood! It’s so vibrant!” and everyone laughs. I can’t help it. I’m surrounded by beauty. And yet, there is still more to see. It’s easy for me now to see the beauty in the obviously beautiful; my challenge now is to see it where beauty is hidden.
