There’s a lot of beauty in the world.
I forget that.
A lot. As in pretty much every damned day.
And there’s a lot of love in the kindness of strangers. I think that’s something worth celebrating. Everywhere I’ve travelled, I’ve met people with whom I’ve exchanged a piece of myself. It’s a little tradeoff, we give the other something to remember us by, and they, in turn, give something of themselves.
I’m trying to remember this. It’s been a few weeks since I’ve been anywhere outside of where I am and, for whatever reason, I haven’t felt very kind lately. It’s why I haven’t blogged in a while. I don’t think I’ve been too kind myself, nor with the people I know and love. That may be because I know them so intimately. I know their quirks; I know their bad days, their bad habits, their bad qualities. Whereas, with strangers, I’m facing blank slates. I don’t know them well enough to have anything to hold against them.
I love travelling because it’s different. Because I grow weary of the same sights and the same culture and the same streetlights and intersections and job and bed. I grow weary of the same people. The same words. The same interactions. I think we all do.
But this does not mean that they are worthy of less kindness.
Loving strangers is all too easy. I do it all the time. But I think, perhaps, that I am not so good at loving the ones closest to me.
That’s a disappointment.
I shouldn’t have to jump a plane to rediscover kindness.
Travelling changes your outlook. The wild hearts of the world inspire creativity and movement. Beauty. But part of being open means discovering the beauty in the mundane. If you cannot open your eyes and recognize the richness just outside your door, in the everyday, then what’s the point?
This blog is all about capturing moments in another place, and I can’t even capture the moment I’m in now. That’s the danger of travel. The danger of encapsulating yourself in beautiful landscaped scenery. Everything else becomes average. It pales in comparison.
So I’m taking some time. Taking some time, not to fall in love with the world, but to fall back in love with my little town, and my family, and the people I call friends. Because, really, they are equally as beautiful, if not more so, than the wildflowers brushing up against the sky. They are richer than the sunsets. They are braver than the winds.
Life’s a balance, and I’m still learning how to tend the scales.