Rich ordinary.
My mom was always wonderful at game-ifying things.
I distinctly remember her teaching me how to draw timelines of my day when I was little. She showed me how to draw stick figures, bathtub bubbles, and pencil icons to represent shower time and homework. It added engaging visuals to an unappealing schedule.
She’d make chores into races to see who could finish first or play imagination games on boring car rides to keep us entertained.
She did it for our joy as kids, but I think she did it for her own as well.
A live wire ball of energy herself, she was always looking to make something fun.
My mom taught me to see the wonder in the ordinary and make the mundane of life exquisite.
I thought about this today as I walked the dog in the first rays of sunlight Sacramento’s seen in weeks. As we strolled and took in the vitamin D, I remembered how committed I once was to finding beauty in the ubiquity of my everyday life.
I realized this skill has gone rusty.
I’m reminded of how the Washington Post highlights Pam’s parting line in The Office series finale: “It was […] Pam who most succinctly wrapped up the reason why America became so hooked on a show about something as banal as life in a drab office that sells paper: ‘There's a lot of beauty in ordinary things,’ she said. ‘Isn't that the point?’”
“There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn’t that the point?”
I’m out of practice in seeing the delight in the in-between and I think it’s because life is just so dreadful a lot of the time.
When I’m stressed, have more questions than answers, there’s uncertainty, and my to-do list is growing with things like meetings, bills, and figuring out what I’m doing with my life, it’s annoying to work to see the poetic in the mess of it all.
But one thing I’ve found myself expressing more and more is that above all, I want to live a life of meaning.
I don’t need to earn six figures or be the best at anything. I just want my life and the way I live it to do justice to the one shot I have at this.
And I get to decide what that kind of life looks like.
I’m beginning to think I’ll get there by refining this art of seeing the richness in the ordinary—the 98% of life, the little details when paid attention to make it rich. Things like relishing in the taste of a homemade whiskey sour, spotting a new shoot of a houseplant peaking through the soil, drinking coffee with a friend on the front porch—reveling in the details of life hidden in between the highlights and assigning value to them.
I love this back-and-forth between Christine (Lady Bird) and Sister Sarah Joan in Lady Bird:
SISTER SARAH JOAN
You clearly love Sacramento.
LADY BIRD
I do?
SISTER SARAH JOAN
You write about Sacramento so affectionately, and with such care.
LADY BIRD
Well, I was just describing it.
SISTER SARAH JOAN
Well, it comes across as love.
LADY BIRD
Sure, I guess I pay attention.
SISTER SARAH JOAN
Don’t you think maybe they are the same thing — love and attention?
“Don’t you think maybe they are the same thing—love and attention?”
I think it can be that simple: paying attention, and I want to do a better job of doing it.