There Is Still Beauty in the World

She smiles back

Sometimes, when we are not together, I think of the man I love. I think of his neck, the way the skin moves when he turns his head from side to side. I think of the way he smells. I know that this is something that cannot be bottled or recorded in any way. And yet, it does not make me sad. Somehow, it makes it better. It makes it unique.

Sometimes, I take pictures. I don’t have a favorite subject, but I have noticed that I favor flowers. I like to get really close to them and take in their character. It is strange: yes, the colors are pretty. Yes, their fragrance can be intense. But there is an individuality on the texture of every flower. I rarely dare touch them (I don’t want to hurt them). Some flowers seem to be soft, others have a rugged surface that suggests an unexpected strength. And there are others for which I’m still looking for words to make them justice.

Sometimes, I look at the dimples on my son’s cheeks. As we all know, dimples only appear when we smile. So, when the dimples show up, his face is telling me he’s experiencing a moment of happiness. Hard to know if it is just a brief moment of fun or a more profound state of being. Happiness is such an elusive creature. However, it is satisfying to look at his face (still the face of a child) knowing that, at least at the moment, he feels happy. I understand that it won’t always be like this. I know he will grow up and live life on his own terms. Damn it, he’s already doing it. And I know it will come to a point where I won’t be able to do anything but to support him from the sides. But now, right now, I can see the dimples. And that makes me happy.

Sometimes, I eat chocolate. I like to unwrap the bar an look at its creamy texture. I pick it up and smell it. You know what I’m talking about…and if you don’t, what the heck are you waiting for? My nostrils inhale, and I start salivating. Time to break up one of those squares and put it into my mouth. I let it sit there for a few seconds. It melts. I chew a little bit. It melts some more. My tongue finds all of the flavors, all of the textures. The creaminess hits the roof of my mouth. Nirvana.

Sometimes, I look at my dogs. All nine of them. Throughout my life, I have had many dogs. Some of them, luckily most of them, have died of old age. Others due to disease or accidents. But before they left us, they all did one thing: they loved us. Real, pure, unique, unconditional love. It is a known fact that humankind does not deserve dogs. We must have done something extraordinary in the past because, honestly, dogs are too big of a treasure to just be for free. A dog will come to you and know everything there is to know about you. They do understand us. They know when we are sad, happy, angry; when we are feeling silly or too important. And they can fix us. And for reasons I don’t understand, they want to. If you need to see something beautiful right now, stare into a dog’s eyes…and you will find it…and yes, I’m pretty certain this applies to cats too.

Sometimes, I make tea. I heat enough water, pour it in a glass jar with an infuser with my favorite(s) tea combination(s). Then, I let five minutes go by. After that, I wait some more. I like my tea strong. I help myself to a cup. I drink it. And it is life. It is energy. I enjoy sitting down while I drink my tea, not doing anything in particular. Just savoring every sip, experiencing every drop. I have come to the conclusion that not two cups of tea are the same. The one I made yesterday was perhaps a bit stronger. The one I will make tomorrow might leave a citrusy note on my tongue. Each cup is unique, just like each morning, as each day…like each of us.

Sometimes, I read books. How is it possible that a person can create a particular arrangement of words that just hits all of the marks? How is it possible that no one had ever said this in that specific way? Somehow, humans manage to do this, over and over again. I have lost count of the times that I have felt my heart warm over some words on a page. Other times, words have moved me, saddened me, lifted me up…changed me. As they say, happiness smells of old books…and new books, and of all the books. As I turn their pages, I know I will get lost and found in their words…, and I love it.

Sometimes I look at myself in a mirror…

…and I look again.

…sometimes I need to look a third time…a fourth one.

Sometimes, it is hard to accept what I find. I have been told so many times by so many different people that the way I look is unacceptable. Not beautiful. Not pleasant.

Not enough.

Sometimes, it is hard to disagree.

But, oftentimes, and every day more and more, I manage to find her. The actual me. The woman who has survived herself. Who gets things done. The woman who is enough. More than enough. The woman on a mission to find beauty. I have wiped her tears so many times. Today, I smile at her…

She smiles back.