Courage Is The Mother of All Beauty

Strolling through the cosmos, hands in pockets

Dear Friends,

I wrote this some time ago—published it a while back. Since then Dispatches has grown and grown. Today, I am putting it back out to give new subscribers the chance to read and older subscribers a chance to revisit.

Picture by Yasmin Vereen. Paraty, Brazil

What I really want to say with all this is that it takes courage to find beauty in this world. It takes a certain amount of courage to be optimistic, in any sense. This comes natural to some—but not to all. Everything I write is more or less a note to myself. I talk and write and even think a lot about gratitude and even courage. Because I think courage most likely invented beauty. Courage probably invented gratitude, too.

To be in the presence of beauty, to admire it, to think on it for a moment—to stop and stare at something marvelous or even find some inexplicable form of beauty in your own thoughts, momentarily, requires one to be still, in a sense. And with this stillness, one could think of themselves as vulnerable. I mean that not just metaphorically, abstractly, in the sense of an emotional vulnerability or in the sense of epiphany, but even truly, in the sense of one’s own survival. Taking the time to stop and stare might cost a living thing its very own life. We can and should be able to express gratitude for our more modern-day existence, perhaps limited to the first world, where we do not live in fear for our lives constantly, as a matter of lifestyle, as a matter of brute necessity. But of course, tragedy can strike at any time. No one on this earth is spared from freak occurrences, once in a lifetime calamity. Of course, that is what we mean when we say “hit by a bus”.

So, when I go on about gratitude, it is not natural to me. I must keep this in mind. I should just be up front about it from the get-go. My wife, bless her, points this out. That I am not exactly the grateful type. And she, of course, being my wife, is right. I am a little grumpy by nature. I think I entered this world a little pissed off. Right at the very start of it, I was born with this. I do find it quite easy to complain. Even so, some of my most inspired writing is done out of anger, frustration, hell bent-ness. Yes—I often look around at our so-called “society” or “civilization” and think of all the ways things could be a lot better. It is quite easy to do.

In some ways, that may take courage, too, because it may involve hard truths, going against the flow of things—perhaps, even disrupting the natural order. Yes, there is no doubt that today (3.11.2024) an awful lot of people feel the same way. It is increasingly easy to view the world through the lens of overwhelming corruption, greedy bastards, liars, and the just generally moral bankrupt landscape that is our current fiasco. I can do this, too. And I often do it while going on about gratitude. Perhaps this makes me somewhat of a hypocrite. At the very least, there is a contradiction there. But I don’t think being grateful is a natural disposition that comes to one in a natural frequency. It is something like a craft, you get better at it with time, practice, with patience. Anyway, we are all afforded the occasional contradiction. Most people have one or two.

Gratitude. Perhaps, one day, you won’t even have to think about it. Unstoppable time—what we all have in common. I can, as a matter of thought experiment, revisit my former self quite easily. With just the smallest effort, I can drum back up all the worries I used to have. As a quick summary: in school, it was grades, up until I decided they didn’t matter. Later, it was girls. Then, in my twenties, I was constantly anxious about rent. I always feared I would end up sleeping outside. Until one day, I did—it wasn’t so bad, after all. It seems to me, in the position that I am now, that all the worries were for nothing. Worrying is similar to hope. They are, in a way, equally ineffective.

They have no function in dilemmas nor blessings. They have no weight, they pull no water, make no moving shadows. But I think gratitude—that is, peace, in a way, does have value. Because to become a grateful type, is to be content. Or if not content, it is the first step towards contentedness.

But again, this is a form of art, a craft. It must be practiced. Even within the movement of gratitude, of gratitude journals, of giving thanks, of counting your blessings, still we fall short of reaching our potential in this way. I think, mostly, the noise is to blame. When we cannot hear ourselves think, when we have been told what constitutes a “contribution to society”, when we work ourselves to death, when we medicate ourselves needlessly, when we shout down our neighbors and we are paralyzed by an overly political world that is hostile to rumination, meditation—we cannot stop and look, or think, or feel anything long enough to appreciate it. Beauty often rewards long looking. It simply takes time.

If I were to wish anything, I would like the whole world to take the day off. To stop. For everything and everyone to take a deep breath, followed by a grand meal and then a long nap. If everything were to stop for as long as a decade, we would, I fear, still not have an ounce of understanding for the current state of man. We have no methods or mechanisms equipped with the task. I am specifically referring to our world politics, countless wars, the pornographication of everything, artificial intelligence, social media, and the internet in general.

We have hardly a clue what the state of man will look like, and still, instead of slowing down, looking up, daydreaming—we slam down on the pedal, clench our teeth and the wheel and careen into the unknown stubbornly, stupidly, confidently. And so, this whole idea about the world taking a meal and a big nap is a farce. A daydream of my own. I just wish we could collectively take a breath. But wishes are just hopes. They are neither here or there.

Everything I write is a note to myself. In fact, I think most of what I write and make as an artist is more or less note-taking. Practically scribbling here and there. I never set out to make masterpieces. I think of being at ease when I write. To write with gratitude and a certain amount of love. I feel this way about all the things I love—poetry, cooking, painting, music. I want everything I do to come across as a love letter. As an ode of some kind, to whoever or whatever. But I know I will still get fired up and angry, that is my contradiction. It’s ok.

I think in our current state of affairs, we have lost something to the environment we have built. The atmosphere, the noise, the hum of all things rings out in a sad, minor key. Of course, it is easy to feel defeated, fatigued. If we are not careful, that may become our more natural, default state.

I think I am happiest after a meal, a little wine, strolling down the street at night at a purposefully leisurely pace. Slightly full, arm in arm with my wife, soaking up the city sounds, having an after-dinner cigarette, not needing or requiring anything. I think that is the best of man. In those moments, a man is just being. Not competing, not fighting, not diminishing anything or anyone, not even, really, contributing. At the very least, he is not contemplating on how to build a better bomb or who to drop it on. Not plotting or exacting his revenge. Not counting his money or even thinking about it. In modern times, this is an act of courage, a plea towards the idea of gratitude.

He may be enlightened or dumb. Ultimately, he is vulnerable, though. To rushing buses, spreading plagues, old age, heartbreak, disappointment. But still there is infinite beauty to be seen and contemplated. It is everywhere. I still wrestle with the courage to find it—and in my better moments, strolling down the streets, hands in my pockets, humming a tune in my head, I do. I am perfectly content, I am at my very best.

With love,

Judson Stacy Vereen

Dear Friends,

Dispatches from Bohemian Splendor is a small but growing newsletter. Becoming a subscriber is an act of supporting the work of a lifelong, dedicated human artist. I aim to make my work as free as possible so that all can participate in the conversations surrounding authenticity, courage and making your life your very own. Please consider subscribing or becoming a paid member. If you read my work, know that I would love to hear from you and am very grateful for any support that you may be able to lend.

Judson Stacy Vereen