Something Beautiful

I've been travelling cross-country from Washington state to Connecticut via multiple forms of transportation. If we're going to be precise, they are as follows: bus, shuttle, airplane, and train. In that order. My travel time is nearing the 24-hour mark and, in that time, I've encountered a lot of people and seen a lot of beauty.

The view from the bus on the way to Seattle, Washington.

Here are my thoughts--with no rhyme, reason, or order to any of them.

I think it is remarkable to see people instinctively help each other. In this area, I firmly believe that the little things are the big things. I don't mean to discount remarkable humanitarian acts of building orphanages and distributing medicine, but I cannot believe that the impact of those actions are any larger than the one the young man on the train had today. Without a moment's hesitation, he helped three elderly women get their suitcases from the overhead compartment, and thanked them in the process. I was deeply impressed by his sincere service, and I want to spread that beauty along the way.

New Jersey is prettiest when seen through little finger smudges on the window. Something about knowing that a small child was thrilled by the scenery makes it more beautiful in my eyes, too.

Journeys are driven by beauty--wherever one finds it. For me, this trip has been driven by the beauty of family. For a girl I met on the bus, yesterday's journey was driven by the beauty in love, dedication, and sacrifice. For a man I met on the street, the journey was driven by the beauty made possible through new beginnings.

This world is remarkably beautiful. The variety, the complexities, the newness that just a few hours in any direction can bring is astounding. There is beauty in the details and in the grand picture, and I want to soak it all in. I want to let that beauty penetrate the walls I put up, and then let that beauty shine back out into the world.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, here's to remembering to see the something beautiful in everything.

Real Writing

I haven't written--really written--in a very long time. Long enough that I can't quite remember when I last composed a piece of any substance at all. Long enough that I have been craving it for some time now.

Every so often, I put another one of these posts up. Where I stand and acknowledge my apparent death as a writer. I share how much I loved it and express that something magical happened as my fingers stretched across the keyboard--it was as if the wisps of my emotions and experiences knowingly lead me along, one at a time, until I reached what I was looking for all along.

I then clarify that I was no remarkable writer and that I never expected to make a significant impact with my words. But it brought me peace to write and to share those thoughts.

Somewhere along the way, I remember how deeply I love the journey of writing and recommit to a life filled with beautiful thoughts and clever sentences. And, for a small time, I hold myself to my rediscovered passion.

The trouble with beautiful thoughts and clever sentences, though, is that they take time and focus. Which is something that I love to give to writing, so let's try this again. The bigger trouble with beautiful thoughts and clever sentences is that they can always be improved. Which is also something that I love--I love that there is an inherent lack of finality in writing. However, the perfectionist tendencies in me take that quality and turn it into reason for procrastination. Post after post remain drafts because they were set aside to be perfected before they were presented to my small audience.

Well, here I am. And I have decided something. My writing isn't perfect, but it is real--and I am okay with that. Speaking of which, I best leave this real writing to study for and take a final.

To all who may stumble upon this post, please accept it as a peace offering in the battle between perfectionism and a writer's love.