It's almost sunrise and my neck is craned, eyes lifted. I'm hungry for beauty on a Monday morning. I crave light, the good stuff. My first cup of coffee still too hot to sip, I wander to the front porch in my search. Step onto the March-cold planks of wood like it's a dare, listening and waiting.
I'm pretty sure I've been dealing with beauty fatigue lately. An overdose of the window-shopping, Pinterest-binging, glossy magazine kind of perfect. Air-brushed and powder-coated, staged and stylized. It distracts me, then leaves me wanting. Similar to the the ugh that takes over when I've overindulged in sweets, beauty fatigue bogs me down. If everything's lovely, then nothing is really lovely. I feel it like sludge in my system and on this Monday morning my soul craves more.
Ann Voskamp writes that trust is the bridge from yesterday to tomorrow, built with planks of thanks and I know it's true. I'm on a hunt to find and study the beauty that's real and cling to it as one week gives way and another begins its unfurling.
- My man with his grease-coloured hands, fixing the brakes on my car
- The manchild who's discovered John Denver and strums Country Road on his guitar in the early morning
- Just-checking-in texts on my phone from a loyal friend
- Sunshine freesias smelling like hope on the kitchen counter
The list goes on and it's solid and steady under my feet.