Several weeks ago, I stumbled upon a wonderful blog post by Logan Wolfram at The Art of Simple. It summed up an idea that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately: the importance and beauty of repetition.
This isn’t a new revelation— I’ve blogged about it before. But especially with my new story as a person rooted in one spot, I’m realizing in sharp focus that my life is full of repetition— and that’s a new opportunity to see things in a different light.
Although I’ve fallen out of the habit lately, for most of the winter I took a walk every day through the wooded riverside park near my house. I take the same route every time, striding down the side of the busy street, across a gravel lot, over the Katy Trail, through a parking lot (often full of trucks hauling boats or jet skis) and onto the little trail that winds through a thicket of cottonwoods and honeysuckle bushes. Every day, I emerge at the same clearing, with a view of the green 370 bridge and the brown railroad bridge beside it. I look at the swath of trees on either side of the bank. I watch the river shimmer with the reflections of trucks roaring across the highway. Sometimes, in the distance I see smoke rising from a factory off to the north.
I’ve always thought this view was pretty, but seeing it every day has made me love it like never before. Each day, I wonder what detail I’m going to notice. Each day, I find something different to marvel at, whether it’s the song of a cardinal, the rhythmic passing of a train, or the green smell of new honeysuckles. It’s not the dramatic gorgeousness of ever-changing locations, but the quiet beauty of the same horizon, with changes so subtle you can’t see them unless you slow down and watch.