Happiness can also be found in the very inconspicuous days that otherwise leave hardly any memories.
What happened this week? The answer that comes to mind first is: nothing. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary, nothing that really stuck with me. Even in my notebook, in which I write down the highlights of the days (or at least make a point of doing so), everything remained empty this week.
Discoveries in front of my feet
It’s in the details
And yet, when I take the time to go back through the individual days in my mind, details come up again that made each day special. The gardener who came to cut back the trees and bushes in the garden and how bare and big everything looked afterwards. The sport, the workouts and the runs in the morning. The menus I cooked, the conversations with neighbors or the people at the checkout in the supermarket. And then the moments in the studio painting or trying out new techniques.
The hot days that felt like summer and the balmy nights that went with them. The new linen bedding, green like the forest and checkered like the grids of my paintings. People who visited Fantasy Basel in crazy costumes and how I thought it was a shame that we humans don’t always dress so imaginatively, it would make life so much more colorful.
Artistic expression and life
Being grateful for the ordinary
Yes, it was an ordinary week in which nothing exciting may have happened. But there were days, hours, moments and feelings that became part of my life. And I’m just as happy about that as I am about the weeks in which there is much more to tell. Everything has its purpose and everything has its time. I am alive and that is a wonderfully precious gift.
Abundance of flowers
Serene and stormy moments on my balcony
