What a Wonderful World
Sitting in front of this blank screen with my eyes closed, I reach back into my memories for moments of beauty to crystallize with words and share with my small online world. I have recently discovered that the intentional remembrance of small wonders in daily living can help me endure the monotony of routine, the pangs of loneliness, and the crush of disappointment that sometimes meet me along my way. This meditative thought-gathering starts in my mind, travels through my heart, and settles into my soul, which in turn reminds me that it is well. All is well - this life brilliant in its beauty and pain - and my God is good through it all.
One of my clients is a teenage girl who sits in my office every other week and declares, with equal parts conviction and despair, that this world - and in turn her whole life and future - is boring. She loses herself in novels and movies, and is deeply afraid of turning her attention back to reality for fear that the bleakness she finds will be too much for her to bear. She cannot imagine that real life could possibly be as fascinating as the lives of people found in fiction.
At first, I met her complaints with an inward eye roll as I chalked it all up to youthful arrogance and melodrama. But later on, I thought about my own obsession with entertainment and distraction. Hundreds of lives and tiny moments flow around me every day as I submerge my awareness into other worlds and stories. Even scrolling through social media is like viewing a painted version of other people's lives, carefully curated and displayed but no closer to reality as a still-life painting is to its real bowl of fruit counterpart. I crave distraction, especially on my subway commutes, and can feel quite despondent if I happened to forget my Kindle at home or if my noise-cancelling headphones run out of battery so that I am forced to listen to music through the cacophony of life happening around me. Being forced to pay attention to life can be really uncomfortable and annoying.
But it can also be surprisingly wonderful.
An old man with tears in his eyes as a young violinist plays his favorite song on the subway platform. A pair of siblings sharing a joke that is so hilarious they shake with silent laughter as their mother struggles against a smile of her own while rolling her eyes at their silliness. A man with a beard and glasses who bore an uncanny resemblance to an ad right above his head. My heart opens wider in surprise as I witness these little wonders.
In my own life, I move through a hundred small graces a day. Flowers that I had been waiting all summer to bloom finally make their appearance and I'm struck with a joy both simple and resonant. A midweek chat with my mom, sipping a bright pink smoothie she made and proudly presented to me minutes after I stopped by. Coming home from a sticky summer commute and turning on a powerful air conditioner right away.
And then there's the simple beauty of allowing my hidden grief to rise to the surface of my awareness, coaxed forth by people who love me. I cried and my friends cried with me in the middle of a playground, surrounded by children learning how to ride bicycles or shoot a basketball on lowered hoops with their fathers. The aching that I quell several times a day became a shared experience in that moment, and I felt once again the intangible yet palpable power of empathy.
So today I am reminded to let myself stay fully awake, unafraid of my thoughts or feelings that serve as notifications for what may be happening in my soul. I will strive to pay attention to other souls around me, and above all else, actively refuse to believe the lie that this world is - in any way, shape, or form - boring.
One of my clients is a teenage girl who sits in my office every other week and declares, with equal parts conviction and despair, that this world - and in turn her whole life and future - is boring. She loses herself in novels and movies, and is deeply afraid of turning her attention back to reality for fear that the bleakness she finds will be too much for her to bear. She cannot imagine that real life could possibly be as fascinating as the lives of people found in fiction.
At first, I met her complaints with an inward eye roll as I chalked it all up to youthful arrogance and melodrama. But later on, I thought about my own obsession with entertainment and distraction. Hundreds of lives and tiny moments flow around me every day as I submerge my awareness into other worlds and stories. Even scrolling through social media is like viewing a painted version of other people's lives, carefully curated and displayed but no closer to reality as a still-life painting is to its real bowl of fruit counterpart. I crave distraction, especially on my subway commutes, and can feel quite despondent if I happened to forget my Kindle at home or if my noise-cancelling headphones run out of battery so that I am forced to listen to music through the cacophony of life happening around me. Being forced to pay attention to life can be really uncomfortable and annoying.
But it can also be surprisingly wonderful.
An old man with tears in his eyes as a young violinist plays his favorite song on the subway platform. A pair of siblings sharing a joke that is so hilarious they shake with silent laughter as their mother struggles against a smile of her own while rolling her eyes at their silliness. A man with a beard and glasses who bore an uncanny resemblance to an ad right above his head. My heart opens wider in surprise as I witness these little wonders.
In my own life, I move through a hundred small graces a day. Flowers that I had been waiting all summer to bloom finally make their appearance and I'm struck with a joy both simple and resonant. A midweek chat with my mom, sipping a bright pink smoothie she made and proudly presented to me minutes after I stopped by. Coming home from a sticky summer commute and turning on a powerful air conditioner right away.
And then there's the simple beauty of allowing my hidden grief to rise to the surface of my awareness, coaxed forth by people who love me. I cried and my friends cried with me in the middle of a playground, surrounded by children learning how to ride bicycles or shoot a basketball on lowered hoops with their fathers. The aching that I quell several times a day became a shared experience in that moment, and I felt once again the intangible yet palpable power of empathy.
So today I am reminded to let myself stay fully awake, unafraid of my thoughts or feelings that serve as notifications for what may be happening in my soul. I will strive to pay attention to other souls around me, and above all else, actively refuse to believe the lie that this world is - in any way, shape, or form - boring.
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