“J’espère que la vie est belle pour toi.”

I hope life is beautiful for you.

It’s that note from an old friend, dropped at the end of an email, that got me thinking. The kindness of these words, and the hope they contain. Coming from someone who’s lived more, who’s been through more, to wish me a life that is “beautiful” – not just safe, comfortable or satisfying, is meaningful.

I read it and paused – is life beautiful for me? Is life more than an addition of moments, some great, some less so? Because it feels like that at times. Times where the daily grind takes over.

Still, there is beauty within days like these. The mountain lighting up at dawn. The sound of bike tires against the crispy, frozen path. The laughter, the stories, the excitation of a work day. The walks along the canal, hanging onto your arm. The long stares out of the train’s window. The stories told, cuddled on the sofa while the dog watches us.

Small moments like these, when you blink and take the time to notice. Life is beautiful.

And greater moments, too. Or rather – a greater everything. A sense of progression, of growth, of becoming. A sense that life, despite its difficulties, is going in a good direction.

I wonder, of course, if that’s true. There are many things in my daily routine that are unappealing. Meetings, emails, emails, emails; a car, a mortgage, and no book written yet. Not every day passes in a delightful bliss. I don’t live in a van, I don’t grow my own food. I have a schedule, I have an office and I look at my phone.

Within that frame though, within these rules, life is beautiful. Maybe because I am at peace with it, because it’s been my choice, to some extent. Maybe because I have my own ways of bending the rules, of owning the system. Or because I’ve started to accept the reality of my human condition, our condition, our limits – and our undefined, infinite potential.