Something Beautiful

I am not wired to see life through rose colored glasses. If anything I would say my lenses tend to be pretty gray by nature. That said, as someone who has struggled with depression and anxiety in my 20's and 30's, one of my acquired and learned disciplines has been focus. When we look at something, whether it be concrete or abstract, we look at it through a unique paradigm that is influenced by our own experiences, fears, beliefs and worldview. Our default is to interpret things much like a camera on auto focus through our own uniquely programmed set of lenses. When we allow ourselves to be conscious, curious and cautious of  how our default affects our perspective, we are able to switch out of auto mode, and learn to see a whole new world of depth and color in manual mode.

Some years ago, the word I chose for my year was "beauty". I wanted to make a concentrated effort that year to be acutely aware of the beautiful. It was an amazing and life altering exercise for me. I threw away my gray lensed glasses that year and disciplined my eyes to observe more closely, appreciate more fully the beauty in the mundane. I am a different, happier, pleasanter person because of it.

Today as I curled up to read to my fourth grader I found myself basking in the warmth of this reality as expressed so powerfully in this passage;

'Michele started toward the painting, but Lord Derby stopped him. "Wait a minute. If you like the picture I'll give it to you. But you must tell the truth."
Michele looked around him. How wonderful it would be to take this place home with him- the sea, and the sky and the cliffs! He walked to the front of the easel, looked at the canvas and then looked again.
There was no sea, no sky, no cliffs.
"The steps," he gasped. "You painted a picture of the steps to Anacapri."
Lord Derby nodded, well pleased with himself. "Do you like my picture?"
Michele nodded, slowly. "Yes. Only-"
"Only what?"
"The steps are so beautiful."
"Have I made them too beautiful? More beautiful than they really are?"
"I never thought they were beautiful at all. I thought they were ugly."
"Perhaps you have never looked at them before."
"Looked at them? I have looked at them a thousand times!"
"Sometimes we never look at the things we see most often."
Michele continued to stare at the picture. "Those colors in the rocks-are they really there?"
"I saw them there."
"And the steps- do they loop and turn like that?"
"Exactly like that."
"You have made them look like a stairway to heaven!"
"Have I? Good..."
But as they walked toward home Michele was still puzzled. "Lord Derby."
"Yes, Michele?"
"Why did you go to the most beautiful spot on Capri and then paint something else?"
..."You don't need an artist to show you the beauty of a place like that. But your ugly steps- if I have made you see a bit of beauty in them, Michele, I am very happy."

Oh how this fills my chest with a warm rush of wonder. The world has its share of ugliness. As I look out my window the scene is littered with abandoned, mildew and graffiti tainted edifices with gaping dark mouths of former windows and doors; streets strewn with garbage, whole bags of it, ripped open and spread far and wide by wild mangy dogs. But my focus elicits a feeling of wonder and joy. I see the soft depth of the green pine forest against the backdrop of the ever azure Mediterranean sky. I see the bobbing yellow orbs on the lemon tree in the abandoned yard behind us drooping under the weight of its bounty, the explosion of purple petals on the bougainvillea climbing the corner of the dilapidated house, the two perfect roses suspended against the backdrop of rough bamboo that shields us from the street.

Like the mess outside my window, the news and the realities of life in a fallen world are ugly and regretful. But the world is still such a wonderful place. We have been given the gift of sight and senses and the power to exercise them. In the midst of the ordinary, the ugly and mundane we can always find something beautiful.

 a few of the 921 steps (only access) to the hilltop town of Anacapri (Capri, Italy)