Trivial Treasures

On Writing to Elevate the Poetry of the Ordinary Life

I feel a responsibility. To bring attention to the commonplace by weaving words, to capture the heart of the ordinary, imbuing it with reverence. To be, almost an ambassador of the ordinary, challenging what is valuable, and cultivating an appreciation for the seemingly simple.

I felt this while sitting in an empty corner of a garden. Sunbeams waltzed through the branches surrounding everything above me, they created a symphony of light and shadow. The shadows bathed the concrete bench and pomegranate tree, across from me, as if painting poetry before my eyes. I stared at the shadows; they swayed in harmony with the branches, rising and falling, reminding me of a buoy bobbing atop an ocean’s waves. I realized this rhythmic motion matched my own breathing, almost like we were inhaling and exhaling together, in meditation, experiencing the essence of existence as one. It seemed the shadows had come alive. And I felt the flow of life. 

Minutes later, the sound of a leaf blower somewhere behind me stopped. I heard footsteps growing louder. The man with a leaf blower appeared and walked up to the statue a few feet in front of me, between the bench and pomegranate tree, and let out small puffs of air to blow away the leaves within the star-shaped tiled area surrounding the statue below. Then he stopped. Like a child playing acrobat, he tiptoed on the edges of the tiled star, bent down, and picked up a vine with a single leaf. He gently painted the statue’s feet with it. His entire arm moved in soft slow sweeps. His playfulness was so endearing, I gave this sight my full attention until he stopped, tossed the vine over his shoulder, and shrugged. We made direct eye contact, said absolutely nothing to each other, but smiled, and then he walked away.

Walking home, I looked up at the sky and noticed a butterfly emerging from some hedges. It was like the hedges birthed butterflies because another, and another, and another appeared. A group of maybe 10 butterflies hovered above me. Monarchs. Dumbfounded, I stopped; I haven’t seen that many butterflies at once, in years, not since being inside that four-floor rainforest dome at the museum. Mesmerized, I watched the little black and burnt orange ghosts; fiery, like sparks of ember with delicate veins. And quietly, they floated away.

I’m completely transfixed by these seemingly trivial, but tranquil and tantalizing phenomena. I wanted to capture and share them with everyone I know. And so, with my pen and journal, I scribbled an inky black wordy sketch. That is until I wondered if writing about anything small and simple as shadows, a stranger, and butterflies is even worth writing about for anyone but myself. I felt silly and indulgent. They’re just mundane moments from my morning, better left in my journal, most might say. Is any of this important enough, or interesting enough to share? Questioning their value caught me by surprise. My self-doubt is always a signal to write.

Why? Because writing validates the subjects we choose to write about. That validation is elevation. What we deem worthy of noticing and bringing forth to others, invites them to notice too. Sometimes, we might feel like such small observations, or moments aren’t important enough to capture, write about, and share. But for many, the little things are the big things. And it’s okay to give ourselves permission to explore and write about them. They deserve attention and elevation. 

Because extravagant spectacles aren’t the only things worthy of sharing. Melodrama, the grandiose, and extraordinary ideas are all significant, but we don’t always or only need the pomp and circumstance. The tiniest moments are important because they make up most of our daily lives. But some of them are so unnoticed and unshared, they’re like secrets. Yet, sharing them can help bring others a nuanced perspective. There can be unique insights to the essence of being human baked into them if we notice and explore them.

For me, life is mostly the little things, the trivial things, if not entirely those things. In noticing, writing, and sharing the ordinary, like shadows, strangers, and butterflies, a spotlight shines on them, revealing the poetry of life’s simple mysteries and delights to celebrate with mindfulness and gratitude. And perhaps, in doing so, I begin to truly embrace my life.

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