“Unlike success and failure, contribution has no other side. It is not arrived at by comparison. All at once I found that the fearful question, ‘Is it enough?’ and the even more fearful question, ‘Am I loved for who I am or for what I have accomplished?’ could both be replaced by the joyful question, ‘How will I be a contributor today?’”

—Rosamund Stone Zander and Benjamin Zander, The Art of Possibility 

As I write this, I look out my office window at the greenness of spring in Florida—our oak trees have mostly leafed out, my crepe myrtle has the tiniest bronze leaflets clinging to its bare limbs and I know in time it will bear ruffley lavender flowers. A cardinal is visiting the bird feeder, his red feathers bright against the greens and browns of the front yard. I’m listening to acoustic guitar music on Pandora, and I have my window open to smell all that green leafiness and hear the birds’ songs more clearly. Not only do I enjoy looking and listening to the beauty around me, I find that it has a calming and uplifting effect on my mood.

While most people would not argue that beauty is nice, is it something we all need? Best-selling author Piero Ferrucci thinks it is, and explores that topic in his book Beauty and the Soul: The Extraordinary Power of Everyday Beauty to Heal Your Life.

Ferrucci believes that beauty is an essential ingredient in a happy, healthy life. He writes, “Beauty plays a central role in our decision to be here. The more we can perceive beauty in our surroundings, and also inside us, the more we will feel at home and glad to exist. Some perceive beauty in the sound of rain and shape of clouds, in people’s faces and voices, in birdsong and the rustling of leaves. Some see it in modern design or ancient embroidered silk, in a cathedral’s stained glass or an advertising poster, in the flowering of intelligence or in altruism, in musical phrasing or the melodic rhythm of poetry, in the dynamism of a statue or the lightness of a dance. For such people the world is a place of great interest, of continuing amazement. Their relation with life is erotic: They are in love with life.”

Ferrucci also notes that contact with beauty makes us less angry and anxious, and that Swedish studies indicate that those who attended theater, movies, concerts and exhibitions have a greater chance of longevity. One explanation is that beauty stimulates the immune system.

Of course, beauty doesn’t just exist in cultural events and experiences. Beauty is everywhere—we just need to notice it. To improve our ability to seek and find beauty, Ferrucci suggests keeping a diary of what we find beautiful, slowing down and paying more attention to what is all around us (“Hurry usually obliterates all forms of beauty”), and removing the attitudes that hamper beauty (“I don’t deserve it, it’s a waste of time, there are better things to think about…”).  As he notes, “Attention is nourishing. Anything we give our interest to grows and develops. Anything we neglect or ignore atrophies. Attention is like a spotlight on a theater stage. It gives emphasis. The world is what it is, but we provide the accent. We look for beauty, give it our vital interest, create space for it. Then beauty will proliferate for us.”

Beauty lifts up the soul, lightens burdens, gives hope and inspiration—all things we so desperately need in this world. If we seek beauty in our lives, we will add to our happiness.

What do you find beautiful? How can you add beauty to your days?

Photo courtesy Liz West

My parents didn’t live long enough to be confronted with the notion of paying for a bottle of water. They’d be horrified. Pay for water? Who ever heard of such a thing? Well . . . Here’s a good poem by Kim Dower, who lives in Los Angeles, about what we go through to quench our thirst today. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Bottled Water

I go to the corner liquor store

for a bottle of water, middle

of a hectic day, must get out

of the office, stop making decisions,

quit obsessing does my blue skirt clash

with my hot pink flats; should I get

my mother a caregiver or just put her

in a home, and I pull open the glass

refrigerator door, am confronted

by brands—Arrowhead, Glitter Geyser,

Deer Park, spring, summer, winter water,

and clearly the bosses of bottled water:

Real Water and Smart Water—how different

will they taste? If I drink Smart Water

will I raise my IQ but be less authentic?

If I choose Real Water will I no longer

deny the truth, but will I attract confused,

needy people who’ll take advantage

of my realness by dumping their problems

on me, and will I be too stupid to help them

sort through their murky dilemmas?

I take no chances, buy them both,

sparkling smart, purified real, drain both bottles,

look around to see is anyone watching?

I’m now brilliantly hydrated.

As I mentioned in “Hello Sketchbook, My Old Friend,” I’ve been taking Laure Ferlita’s An Imaginary Visit to a Past Vacation class. Not for the first time, I noticed I’m learning more in art class than simply how to sketch—I’m learning lessons that easily expand beyond the art studio. As in art, so in life:

Preparation makes everything easier… Laure encouraged us to do thumbnails (quick sketches in a junk journal to figure out placement of images and lettering).  Before starting a sketch, I made sure I had my palette, full waterbrushes, paper towels and tissues, my color chart, my reference photos, and a scrap piece of watercolor paper if I needed a quick color check. Once I started, I didn’t want to have to stop to hunt something down. This is also a good way to approach new projects and experiences: figure out what resources you need to have before you get started so that you can proceed smoothly.

…but sooner or later, I have to start. I sometimes let myself get stuck in preparation mode, forever putting off action. Facing a blank page in my sketchbook feels remarkably like facing decisions or starting major projects. Once that first mark hits the page—or I take that first action—I usually relax and can continue without too much fuss and bother.

I’m often my harshest critic. I was pretty happy with my sketches in this class, but in previous classes, I have been frankly embarrassed to share my work. I could see only the flaws in it, how it wasn’t what I wanted it to be, and how (I felt) it wasn’t as good as everyone else’s. My fellow classmates always found something good to say, and ways to encourage me not to give up. When I comment on my classmates’ art, I always look for something specific that I like about it, and I can always find it. I should be so generous with myself! I have a feeling my art isn’t the only area where I’m much harder on myself than is necessary.

As always, I had a great time in Laure’s class, and was able to take away more than just the beginnings of a new sketchbook. I still have one more assignment to complete, so excuse me while I get ready, get started, and ease up on myself. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve had a cat, and I had forgotten some of the added services cats provide over and above being pets. Each cat has his or her own specialties, and here are a few of Prudy’s:

Alarm Clock. My cat alarm clock is set for 6:30 a.m. This is fine for the rare days that I need to get up that early—which, unfortunately for Prudy, are not that often. Many nights I must shut Prudy in my office/her bedroom so that I can get a full night’s sleep. My office is directly next door to our bedroom, so when her snooze alarm goes off at 7:15, I’m sure to hear it.

Declutterer. Some areas of our house now look a little, shall we say, minimalistic. For example, the dining room table, which used to have a lovely silk flower arrangement, is now a bare sheet of wood. Cats love to knock things off any surface they manage to get on, whether or not they are allowed on these surfaces. As Prudy’s ability to jump or climb has increased, so has the spareness of my décor—the sofa table, the aforementioned dining table, my dresser. Practically every horizontal surface in the house has been simplified if not stripped bare.  No, I suppose I didn’t really need that ceramic candle holder. But I’m still sad about the folk art cow she knocked off the kitchen sideboard.

Natural Antidepressant. Prudy is super soft to pet and very purry—she purrs when she eats, she purrs when she plays, she purrs when she’s in the mood for affection. She’ll climb on my lap, lie down, and sometimes go to sleep. She’ll even lie on her back and allow me to play with her paws and stroke her pouffy tail. It’s kind of hard to remain down when faced with all that cuteness.

Personal Trainer. Monday morning (a day I had to get up at 6:30—thank you, Prudy), as I exited the bathroom back into our dark bedroom where my husband still slept, my bare feet met something soft and furry. In an effort not to flatten her, I performed some of the most intricate dance moves I’ve done in a long time.

Artist. I’ve been taking Laure Ferlita’s Imaginary Visit to a Past Vacation class, and the first time I worked on an assignment, Prudy lay down on my open palette. I suspect all future sketches will have a little cat hair accent in them somewhere. A new way to incorporate texture!

I consider myself lucky to live with such an accomplished cat, and look forward to seeing what other services she will bring to our lives. Not a bad return on the minimal adoption fee at the shelter!

What are your pets’ specialties?