Forgetting the little things

“The little things” – a collective term for morsels of enlightenment.

It’s easy to forget small pleasures in a concrete jungle where irksome habits are the order of the day.

I suspect people surrounded by children are closer to the sparkle of the “little things”. Small children, in particular, are great at weakening adult disenchantment. Their simple phrases or observations carve out the truth within the rubbish. They are astute beings yet to be imbued with disappointment. It’s not that children are perfection, but they are largely unblemished by the global mood, and this is especially true the younger they are.

Perhaps that is why so many of us like to cast a nostalgic glance at the past. Everything was so much better when we were saplings ready to experience the night for the first time. Told of its great majesty, we were barely prepared for the power of its darkness. In youth, we were urged to ‘reach for the stars’ and rarely warned of the gloomy path tainted with blood and money. Worse still was learning we had to stuff our pockets with that blood and money to make ends meet. It all gets filtered into a single system; the survival of the fittest.

It begs the question; what is the beauty of being? Is it working, laughing and making lots of money. Is it health, family and a second home on a Spanish coast. Does it come in boxes, plates or bottles. Will it last, and if so, for how long. Does it hang from a far away edge or on the tip of a tongue. And do I deserve it regardless of anyone else’s attainment.

The beauty of the little things is wrapped up in observation. It’s a mood, a sentiment, a way of life. Country, city or clubhouse, sliced pleasure can be clutched from under a grim rock. The question is not what that pleasure is but whether we can get past the blood and money to appreciate it. Despicable means of life turn our hearts to stone. The little things are there to keep it cushioned.

Yesterday I shared a giggle. What I wore or where it was barely matters. It reminded me of that beating instrument within my chest. It invoked the beauty of the little things that bring us close to happy.


About natashabrowne

Natasha is a freelance journalist and aspiring economist.
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