I want to find wonderment in simple things, in candid moments, in messes. In dust bunnies discovered under the couch, a collection of singleton socks, the cooktop so weathered from use it will never again be entirely clean. Windows that need replacing, a box full of birthday cards, and a new pint of Southern Butter Pecan Talenti gelato. Feeling solid earth under my feet, my head on a pillowcase that still smells of clean laundry, a freshly sharpened Ticonderoga pencil between my fingertips. In a resolved conflict, and my tiny first apartment. The beating of my heart; my tastebuds.
Oftentimes I fixate on perception: what others think and why, how they define worth, if I measure up. When the ruminating gets to be too exhausting, I peel away the layers and focus on primal matters instead. Am I hungry, does the weather warrant a sweater, did I call Nana to say "good morning"? I try to focus on the tasks at hand, the minutiae that when taken together comprise a lifetime. I make breakfast, put gas in my tank, yield for pedestrians. Answer emails, send a thank you note, buy a bouqet of flowers.
I want to find wonderment in simple things, in candid moments, in messes. Beauty rooted in simplicity is abundant. In fudge brownie pie, words of affirmation, and a phone call from your best friend. Clasped hands, Monopoly, and eggs over easy. In broken hearts, our capacity as people to feel, and compassion revealed in the unlikliest of places. In arguments and fighting the urge to cry. In succumbing to the tears and starting over. Saying goodbye but memories dear, letting go of something you fear.
I need to find wonderment in simple things, in candid moments, in messes. I have little faith in the alternative.