I’d like to make a case for looking for beauty. We can hunt for it, even call out its name.

Just know—it can sneak up on us but once visible, it talks loud and clear.

– Gail Conrad

 OPENING (with music):

Hello and welcome to the Wildscape Podcast, sharing tales of stepping into the unknown to create more art, beauty, and magic in your life. I’m your host, Gail Conrad, and today you’re listening to:

WHERE’S BEAUTY?

Today I begin with a story that happened years ago, as I arrive at my grandmother’s apartment in Brooklyn, New York for lunch.

“We’re taking you out to lunch at the hospital cafeteria,” my 85-year old grandmother and her boyfriend Lou tell greet me with this, as I enter her apartment in Brooklyn one afternoon.

“What” I say.

“You’ll love it!” She states this like a non-negotiable fact, and she adds, “It has everything!”

I look at her with disbelief. “Let me take you out to the diner,” I say, and I name a place we’ve often gone.

“No, this is better,” she stands her ground, “and this is going to be our treat!”

Now at this point, I go pretty mute or rather, my mouth is open, but no words come out.

Perhaps you’ve never minded going to hospital cafeterias, but for me when I was young, hospitals in themselves were a dreaded place. Ever since my father seemingly disappeared overnight in one when I was nine, okay—I admit—I had a fairly strong phobia about them, so the idea of voluntarily choosing a hospital cafeteria as a desired spot for lunch, well—was beyond scary and surreal to me.

But I cave in, and the three of us—my grandmother, her boyfriend Lou and myself—we take a walk across the street, and stroll into the hospital.

Do we go directly to the cafeteria? Hell no. It takes me only a minute to realize that their idea of an afternoon outing includes a whole different plan, so what we do is we take the elevator a few floors up, and we get off across from the ICU.

And as we continue to stroll down the hallway, Lou smiles and my grandmother waves to the nurses and pauses to chat.

They all seem to remember her, and maybe that’s no surprise, especially because she knows that floor very well for right there, she’s had a number of extended stays, the last one—a heart attack.

Meantime, I can’t help but glance into some of the open rooms. I see people of all ages hooked up to cold metal machines. I turn white; my body walks like a dead weight, while my grandmother and Lou—they begin to reminisce.

They point to certain spots and say things like: “Remember when I fell on the floor there?”

“Yeah—that’s right, and after that you got an upgrade, to that nice big private room…”

I can’t believe that we’re doing this but finally we take the elevator down and arrive at our chosen destination for lunch—the hospital cafeteria.

At this point, I practically race into its room.

And the first surprise is who’s there.
The best way to describe it is—well—the entire neighborhood!

For it seems that a number of my grandmother’s friends and neighbors are also partial to hanging out at this spot. We’re greeted with waves and shouts to join them, but first we pick up our lunch.

My grandmother goes for the special: some kind of salt-free chicken salad. It comes with coffee and pie for dessert.

I get a tuna sandwich. I’m betting that it’s also salt-free so for my side, I grab a bag of potato chips. I don’t remember what I ordered to drink, but as lunch goes on, I begin to see why it’s my grandmother’s and Lou’s favorite spot.

It’s literally across the street. They meet all their friends and neighbors there. It has salt-free food, and most important—it’s cheap.

For them, it’s win-win, plus they like to visit and chat with the nurses and aides as well. For me, that afternoon becomes a moment—more like a primal memory and right-of-passage, that I never forget.

In fact, I think about it often when many years later, my mother’s in the ICU, and I’ve practically lived in the hospital with her for going on six weeks.

By this time, I even know the combination to the fridge where the nurses store their food. They allow me to keep treats for my mother there as well.

By this time, I seem to know every hallway and every get-well trinket in the gift shop.

I’m even familiar with the robot—a sort of bad look alike Star Wars R2D2, who beeps and trips up visitors as he delivers medications to patients’ rooms. The only time I have an issue is late one night, when I get stuck in an elevator with him.

But at least it makes me laugh.

For I never saw how my father disappeared in a hospital, but right now I’m so afraid that my mother is dying, and that I’ll witness exactly how she’ll disappear—right there.

I’m bone tired. I dose in a chair. And then this happens:

A nurse comes in to check on my mother, for the umpteenth time that day, and as she stands by the bed that nurse—I swear—she glows! To me she looks like beauty, and so does every doctor and nurse and attendant on that floor.

And in that moment, the hospital no longer becomes a place of horror, instead it becomes a place where some of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen, ever met, are found.

It becomes a place where I feel a touch of beauty. I didn’t see this coming; it seems to appear out of nowhere.

And even after my mother, against all odds, gets better and yes—she does come home, I can’t stop looking for beauty because now I know—it can reveal itself anywhere.

So I start asking myself questions like:

Where else is beauty in my life that I never imagined it would be?

Where’s beauty in the roughest of times?

Where’s beauty when I’m feeling all alone?

How about when you’re feeling all alone…?

Sometimes I think, we’re so busy chasing things that we forget about beauty.

Do you see experiencing beauty as a luxury, or is it an essential for you in your life?

So I keep on asking:
Where’s BEAUTY?

And I realize, we can always find beauty, but here’s the thing—

Sometimes it lurks, and often—it’s a surprise.

I have another story:
About 4 years ago, I had a car accident. I hit a big SUV. It was nighttime; it was dark. I made a turn and I didn’t see the other car coming. We crashed, and it was absolutely my fault.

Luckily no one is hurt. The SUV has minor damage, but my little car is smoky and definitely wrecked. I somehow pull it over to the side of the street, and now so does the person in the other car. And a young girl, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three, gets out.

She first checks out the damage to her car, then assures me that she’s not hurt, that she’s really okay. But I freak because the moment she steps out, I can tell that she’s pregnant. My body freezes. I stand like a statue in the dark, by my crumpled car.

But then we exchange info. I stare at her license. I can barely see. I use the flashlight on my phone.

She says, “I’m going to call my Dad. He’s a car dealer—he’ll know what to do.”

I nod numbly and say, “Sure—I’ll wait.”

We stand in the dark in silence. I don’t call anyone. And after about twenty minutes, her father arrives. He gets out, looks at both cars, speaks to his daughter and says, “I’ll meet you at home.”

She gets into her car and drives off. Now he walks towards me. I wait, in total fear.

But he looks at me still holding my phone and says: “You should turn off your flashlight, or soon the battery on your phone will go dead.”

Then he touches my shoulder gently—gets into his car—and drives away.

So many things in life are beautiful.

But I say:
When people act with beauty,

AS BEAUTY,

To me, that’s the most beautiful thing of all.

Thank you.

—
I’m Gail Conrad, your host of the Wildscape Podcast, and I want to say thank you for listening today. The opening music is by Chip Barrow, and if you’d like to comment or contact me directly, you can go to wildscapecoaching.com forward slash podcast.

That’s www.wildscapecoaching.com/podcast/

I’d love to hear from you, and also—I’d love for you to share this podcast with friends. So spread the word, and I look forward to the next time we connect. Bye for now.

Keep looking for beauty!