“Beauty—be not caused—It Is—
Chase it, and it ceases—
Chase it not, and it abides—”
Emily Dickinson once wrote that – “Beauty is not caused. It is.” – implying oh-so-simply that beauty is not some collateral effect of any effort made to acquire, achieve, accomplish, or otherwise behold it. It is not a goal, a destination, or an end in itself. It is a fact. It is everywhere. Pervasive. Inherent. And though often subtle, understated, even undetected, it is incredibly powerful – especially when shared.
How frustrating, the desire to capture such a beauty and describe it with any accuracy. To convey such a vast, profound reality with mere words does it no justice whatsoever. Still, I had to try, because I feel it so deeply in my own experience that it has welled up inside with nowhere else to go. Though my attempts to share these brief thoughts with you seem to me to be feeble at best, I hope you might find some encouragement in them. Some unexplainable spark. Some scope for the imagination.
To draw from my life so far (albeit a fairly short one), especially in recent times, I’m finding that the more people I meet, the more I hear about the passions and triumphs of others, their struggles, their life stories in general, the more I get to experience this ‘beauty’ that Dickinson so reveres. The simple sharing of such petits bonheurs is well illustrated by the metaphor of the lit candle – the purveyor – which loses none of its shimmering wonder by lighting another candle – the listener. What’s more, it seems the more joys and trials I face personally, the more I notice the magnificence and necessity not only in happy goings-on, but in heartache and tragedy. And the more my eyes take in new sights, my ears, new sounds, the more they are opened to the possibility and opportunity in every circumstance, no matter how wonderful or dire that circumstance my be.
What greater evidence is there of beauty, of possibility, of inspiration than the radiant twinkle in my nephew’s eyes when he recognizes Santa Claus on the cover of a children’s book; than the clear evening sky as viewed through an awkward, tiny airplane window, with city lights clustering into constellations below while the stars themselves glimmer around and above; than a warm, painted sunrise heralding the promise of a fresh new day to a troubled mind; than the feeling of a dream, which has been stitched on your heart for 14 amazing and agonizing years of your life, finally being realized; than heartwarming memories of a loved one who recently, and tragically, passed. These examples, of course, could go on and on without end. They could fill pages and those pages could fill books and those books could fill libraries, but what good would it do if we wrote and wrote and never let these little glimpses of beauty fill up and overflow from our hearts? If we never share them with our friends, our family, random strangers? (After all, you never know who might need the extra encouragement. That’s another topic in itself. But I digress.)
As a high school-er, even as an undergrad, I figured that life was one big, complicated puzzle. I thought I would have to piece everything together in some perfect, sequential, immaculately fashioned scheme in order to be worth my weight in the world. I craved logic, procedure, strategy, and I still do. But I look at how things are playing out, how my life has changed even just over the past year, and it’s obvious now that the plans I had in mind before paled in comparison to the unexpected, unsolicited blessings that have somehow situated me where I am today. Further, it seems that for years my formulaic processing and life-planning eclipsed an underlying, more (dare I say) emotional – but just as pragmatic – understanding of the world going on outside of my head. Sure, it’s been uncomfortable to depart from an introverted system to a more open, vulnerable one — let’s be honest, when you allow yourself to share parts of your own heart and also share in the experience of others, you deliberately exchange not only the happiness of those joys to be celebrated but also the anticipation of those fears to be conquered and those battles to be fought — and I’ve no doubt it’s going to continue to be uncomfortable, but how are we supposed to grow if we refuse to learn from each other, if we are never ourselves pushed, prodded, stretched, tested? How can we ever appreciate the beauty around us if: a) all we know is sunshine and rainbows, and b) we keep the beauty that we do experience to ourselves?
To be clear, I boast no grand wisdom or eloquence on this whole subject, but I do hope to convince you, more so encourage you, that your own life – yes, yours – is a beautiful one. A work of art. No matter who you are, no matter where you come from, no matter what you do, no matter what you’re going through, yours is a story worth telling. It’s a sad, but common reality that countless people in this world feel alone, stuck, disappointed, discouraged, discarded, despondent, maybe all of the above. Admittedly, that’s exactly how I felt between July of last year and around July of this one. If that is where you are right now, I promise you it won’t go on forever; it will only last for a season and you will learn very much by enduring such a storm. What’s important is the resolution to not give up and the assurance that, if nothing else, there is beauty in your steady, unrelenting spirit of hope. Let that hope never be silenced, come what may.
To reiterate one of my own aforementioned petits bonheurs, I’m beyond humbled to report that what is so far my now 14-year pursuit of a career in medicine is one small step (though it feels like a giant leap!) further along now. Last month, I blessedly learned that I was accepted into an MD program, and I have been floating around on the proverbial, whimsical Cloud Nine ever since. I am under no illusion that I have come to this point on my own strength, nor that I would be here without a loving God and the unconditional support of family and friends. It’s such an incredible privilege, I have a hard time believing that this is something that anyone, least of all myself, can possibly deserve. But it’s where I am, and with each passing day I’m realizing that every moment leading up to now – every single happy, sad, triumphant, wistful, painful, wonderful, or terrible moment – was riddled with Dickinson’s suggested beauty and was necessary for my story. And I’m convinced that the same goes for you. Embrace it, learn from it, grow in it, and share it with the world.
Thanks for reading!
(A final, tangential note meant for those re-applicants out there, or truly for any of you who have been working toward your dream for years to what seems like no avail: Please, please, please, DO NOT GIVE UP. Your story, your experience, is as beautiful and extraordinary as any other.)
Captivated Me 