There is a peculiar sadness embedded in the phrase “as I was moving ahead occasionally I saw brief glimpses of beauty.”
Beauty, in its most honest form, does not demand a pause. It slips in through the cracks of your hurry. It is the universe’s way of reminding you that you are still here, still able to be moved. There is another layer to this phrase, one that stings a little. As I was moving ahead —implying that sometimes, you have no choice. Grief moves ahead. Healing moves ahead. The mundane Tuesday of work and dishes and emails moves ahead. You cannot stop for every glint of wonder; you would never arrive anywhere. There is a peculiar sadness embedded in the
A slant of winter light on a brick wall. A child handing a flower to a bus driver. An old song playing in a grocery store, and for three seconds, you are seventeen again. There is another layer to this phrase, one
We live in an age of over-documentation. We take pictures of sunsets we don’t feel, record concerts we aren’t present for, bookmark articles we never read. But a glimpse cannot be captured that way. A glimpse is not a photograph. It is a wound of awareness. You don’t own it. It owns you for a second, then releases you back into the forward motion. Healing moves ahead