We walk among billions of stories every day. Stories waiting to be told, some waiting to be lived. Author William Zinsser observes, "Most men and women lead lives, if not of quiet desperation, at least of desperate quietness." Each of us, alone, possess the voice to tell our story. Is it worth telling? we wonder. What is so special about my story? Is there enough there to write about? As if the ordinary isn't deemed worthy of telling. And so we wait, for the rare and fleeting moments of grandeur, to pick up the pen. Yet one longing I believe we have in common as storytellers inspires me in the telling of my own.
Redemption. We want to know there's a redemptive purpose, something beyond fate or chance or luck, something that takes the bad and ugly and heartbreaking aspects of our stories and redeems them, draws forth beauty from them. Not only do we want to know it; we long to see it.
This is the birth of beautiful rubbish.
After several years of writing here, I can say this: beautiful rubbish, as a concept, is a way of seeing. Seeing things as they are. Seeing things beyond first impressions. Seeing deeper, closer, further out. Seeing in the dark. Seeing fresh with eyes open wide. Seeing what is unseen.
Hence, the subtitle - everyday art of learning to see.
Whatever your philosophical, religious or political beliefs - no matter what names you call God, or god, or whether or not you believe in this at all, or are undecided, finding your way as most of us are - I hope very much you'll find a place of welcome here. That you'll see reflections of bits of your story in these tales of a broken, beautiful work in progress, edging into mystery and toward redemption.
We are all, as Ram Dass so beautifully said, "just walking each other home."