This little blog turns ten this year. Thanks to the archive, I know I wrote 47 posts that first year in 2014. In 2022, after welcoming a new baby, I only wrote twelve. Life, and its demands, have changed a bit. I did write slightly more in 2023, but certainly not at the weekly rate, and I’m not sure what 2024 will have in store. I worry about sharing my free ideas with ChatGPT, and how artists and writers are compromised with the advance of AI. I weigh sleep over exercise, and sending emails over creating new content. Regardless, in this ten year journey, the continued practice of seeking the beautiful as the world continues to grow more connected and more tumultuous has brought a multitude of gifts.

For this first post of 2024, I’m sharing ten things the pursuit of beautiful things has taught me in the last ten years.

1. The world, perhaps, has always been a little bit messed up. Still, there is joy. Pay attention.
   R.E.M once quipped “It’s the end of the world as we know it (and I feel fine.) Since the beginning of time the sky has been falling, things are shifting, and changing. And yes, in the last ten years things have felt bleaker, heavier, and perhaps more important than the previous ten. And I believe, you see what you look for. Turn off the news. Bring cookies to a neighbor. You, too, can create joy. What do you need to do to feel fine?
   
2. Hope takes practice.
   Our brains are programmed to seek out the negative. It keeps us safe. I’ve learned, however, in a world that constantly feels dangerous, finding beautiful things keeps me feeling hopeful and optimistic. Hope, for me, is a practice of choosing the good, over and over again. Beauty expands when we seek it repetitively.
   
3. Most people are in some type of pain. Expressing it helps.
   Our culture sucks at finding words for difficult experiences. Each of us are suffering in some way and we’re told to keep that pain to ourselves or in quiet rooms where professionals help you problem solve. I’ve found so much community and belonging with people who are able to hold both beauty and pain, side by side, as we work towards healing. I’m not alone.
   
4. Awe is an underrated experience.
   How much of life we take for granted. When I really stop to think about all the things that do go right on any given day, I’m filled with awe. Yesterday, I watched my daughter chase bubbles across a winter lawn. Her grasping for tiny purple orbs while squealing with delight brought me back to a grounded place. A tiny human chasing soap. Amazing.
   
5. We need each other.
   Americans like to believe we are independent. Grief, Covid, and motherhood have taught me that while our experiences are unique, there are common threads to the human experience that can connect us if we let it. We need each other. We need soup and phone calls and texts and connection. We need reminders that when things are heavy, others can shoulder the weight of both our worlds and the big ol’ world. And when things feel light, we need to invite others to dance with us in the rays of goodness. Beauty expands when it is shared.
   
6. Not everyone will grow with you. That’s ok.
   In the last ten years, I changed jobs and I said a lot of good-byes. Co-workers moved on, friends moved, and some family members stopped responding to texts. I made short-term connections and cried when people I thought would stick around didn’t. Not everyone is growing in the same way you are, and that’s ok. This truth doesn’t detract from the beauty individuals bring in different chapters along the way.
   
7. Chin Up, dear.
   In times of transition, stress, and distress, it’s easy to get tunnel vision and forget what else is going on that is positive. When I’m feeling bleak, I remind myself to cup my own face and say, “Chin up, dear.” The slight tilt up brings a different perspective at the reminder that while my situation may be less than ideal, somewhere across the way someone else is experiencing great joy. Coffee is being brewed, friends are hugging at airports, babies are being born.
   
8. The practice is worthy
   Yes, I have dreams of turning this project into a book, and it would be nice to be discovered. Perhaps all artists want to be found. But, I’ve learned that weekly writing, or as it has devolved to less, is still worthy of existing. I don’t need an agent or a book deal or a long newsletter list for the work to matter. Even if the posts bring in only 54 cents a month. To know the posts meet at least one each week still bring the work worth. The dedication to the project and how it has transformed me is worth enough.
   
9. Beauty is often quiet.
   There’s a lot of noise out there. Returning to the beautiful often takes the deliberate choice to turn down the noise and to tune into what you know to be true. Witnessing may require calm. Beauty doesn’t demand attention and it doesn’t yell. It’s in the silence that we may be moved to tears.
   
10. Now, more than ever.
    People are so scared. People are so beautiful. Now, more than ever, I believe we can use the pursuit of beautiful things to connect us with compassion and grace. Humans have capacity for both darkness and light. And I believe, when we train ourselves to look for the beautiful, we can change ourselves and in turn, trickle out to change the world.

Here’s to the continued search and however many posts come next.