Beauty in the Chaos
Today, I stepped outside because the little neighborhood was at the door, bellowing for me. He did his happy little chirping and then demanded to be held. Since we’ve become acquainted, he’s gone from tolerating being held to giving the cat version of hug while purring madly.
It is the best thing. It is a whole joy to be adored and chosen by this sweet little dude. Sure, his facial expressions always resemble a disgruntled, done-with-your-shit miser. But that’s just his face. He is, in fact, the happiest cat.
Lately, it seems like every new minute brings some fresh horror. There isn’t a person in my life who isn’t going through it, and there are things I am also struggling with. We’re all in the thick of chaos, it seems. And there are days where it weighs very heavy on my heart.
I want to fix things for those I love. I want to hug and help and be there. I am the person who will pack a bag and show up, just to lounge on the couch and be present, if need be. (If I have ever said how can I help?, I mean it.)
I’ve felt, too, like I’m trying to manage a hundred things at once. To write. To make headway on X. To accomplish Y. And there are days where it feels—at least emotionally—as if I’m spinning my wheels and those wheels are, in fact, flat tires.
But when things are difficult, I think on the beauty that is so prevalent. My favorite lilac bush that has not blooms yet, but will soon be a riot of purple.
The hyacinths that are bright pink and purple, which have the best scent. How my cat loves to curl up as close to my face as he can get at bedtime, purring like a freight train. (Does it make it hard to sleep? Yes. Would I change it for the world? No.)
The way the air smells when it’s about to rain. How the sky always has something beautiful to offer, if you just look up.
I’m someone who is always looking, always thinking. It takes a lot to quiet my head. (Thanks, anxiety!) And I love, love, love clarity. And honesty. I love being understood and seen (and vice versa), because I’ve often felt entirely odd. And still, I am always 100% myself.
None of us get everything right all the time, but kindness costs nothing. Care, in this messy moment, is paramount. And I truly wish I could do more, always. But I know that love always makes a difference, whether it’s in the form of a hug, a kiss, a kind word, a random text, or a soft gesture.
The world may be harsh, but I find myself getting softer in response. Furiously and entirely throwing my heart into whatever is in my heart with gusto. I am grateful for sweet friends. For those who reply to my texts fast enough that I know I matter. How care is a kind of antidote to chaos. How hope is not a gentle thing, but gritted teeth and a strong grip.
There is so much beauty out there. Maybe it’s the neighbor cat. Maybe it’s a sky full of glorious stars. A friend who shares a photo of a bit of their day. A how are you doing? text from someone who really means it. A kitchen dance party while making dinner. A favorite candle burning. A song that conjures a smile.
Hope. A heartbeat. A possibility. And god, steadiness. The ones who don’t run. The ones who are rock and root and earth. Soft and safe and steady—full of certainty, not questions. A good book. A nice bubble bath. (I would shiv a nun for a good soak with an obscene amount of bubbles.)
When things are bad/hard/awful, move toward joy. Move toward softness and safety and those who give a damn. Remember to breathe and look for the ordinary bits of magick waiting around corners. Do not lose hope or heart, because you matter.
Do not forget that.