My Husband returned with a noisy sack of ceramic shards, which I proceeded to wet with pity sogged tears. What had been my long coveted candlesticks had returned from Thanksgiving dinner as an anthropological remnant.
Bereavement soon gave way to resolve and superglue. And I painstakingly mended each and every recovered piece properly into place. Reborn, my candlesticks are more beautiful to me now. I love their broken lines, the tiny cracks, the uneven outline. Part of me and my determination is in them.
They aren’t perfect, they are beautiful.
Finding beauty more often does not make it any less valuable. By applying the label of beauty more liberally our lives only become richer.
Search beauty out and you will appreciate it more. Don’t settle for the obvious or ostentatious, curate a collection of unconventional beauty: the wood grain of a dumpster grate, the gentle curve of a wilted rose, the repetition of color at the ninety-nine cent store.
Children are much better at this than adults. Adults have been trained in a strict definition of beauty and fail to see the sparkle in concrete, the wonder in soap wrappers.
By expanding our construct of beauty, we are able to fit ourselves inside of it.
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