BEAUTY 1 : the quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit
Last Saturday I bought some tulips from the Farmers Market of the Ozarks. They were gorgeous. They were - and this is not hyperbole - the most beautiful gift I had ever bought for myself. As I carried them around the market, I heard scores of people in my wake exclaiming how perfect they were. I could hear the smile in their voices.
And I knew that, somehow, just carrying these flowers made me more beautiful...my eyes were brighter, my step a bit bouncier, my smile even more contagious.
For almost a week these flowers sat in the center of my home. Each time I opened my door and saw them I would (and I'm not making this up) do a happy dance. Their beauty absolutely permeated my home.
So when I finally admitted a few days ago that it was time to throw them out, I was bummed. Really bummed. I loved my tulips. I did not want to lose them. Sure. I could buy new tulips...but they wouldn't be the same. They wouldn't be these tulips. They wouldn't be the tulips I carried through the market feeling beautiful with. They would be beautiful. I would love them. But they wouldn't be these tulips.
That was two days ago. But the thing is? My tulips are still with me. I can't see them. I can't smell them. But their beauty still permeates my home - it permeates my life. I am a more beautiful, more cheerful, more vivacious person because of the five days that they were a part of my life.
And I realize... I want to be that to other people. I want to be so vibrant, so happy, so spiritually beautiful that I leave a smile on the face of each person who sees me. I want to be the person who seeks out the beauty in others. I want to be the kind of person who - even after I am no longer physically present - brings happiness and light and beauty into the hearts of the people who knew me.
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