If I had one piece of wisdom to share with anyone, it’s this: your dirty old windowsill deserves a photoshoot. Because the dirt, the chipped, yellowed paint, and the random little scraps of trash or forgotten trinkets that may be adorning it all add to its beauty.

In maybe February or May of 2025, my best friend was in residential. For anyone who doesn’t know, residential is like the psych ward, but longer. My relationship with them at this point was what my therapist and sister have both described several times as ‘codependent.’ I was so worried, all I could think about was them, wondering if they were okay. I spent so much time just staring off into space, not wanting to talk to anyone or do anything.

And then something amazing happened. You see, the thing about staring off into space a lot is, you start to notice a lot of small things. I started seeing the rocks on the ground as mountains, the old cough drop on my windowsill as sculpture. Art. I started to enjoy this quiet dissociation I had become accustomed to hating. I started drawing little ant-sized explorers, photographing whatever random, everyday objects caught my eye, and drawing wholesome scenes of camping or hiking on top of them. By the time my friend came back, I had ten of these as finished pieces, and more than double that in unfinished sketches. I don’t draw these scenes much anymore, but I still take pictures while thinking of them, still see them stumbling around the world as if it’s the most amazing thing they’ve seen. And they never fail to make me happy.

To me, the ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary is what makes life worth living. It helped me remember how much I love being alive, even after I had long since forgotten. The more stable-minded among those reading this might not understand why things like this should matter to them. After all, if you already like your life, you don’t need it. But I strongly disagree. Taking a moment to appreciate the nature of how breathtaking the mundane can be is a practice of gratitude. It teaches you to be content; to honor the wonder of things that are tired and worn is a reminder of how much you have.

Most importantly, this isn’t just a single thought. It’s a mindset, applicable to almost anything in life. Once you see how your dust-coated window sparkles, you can see it everywhere. You see it in nature, in architecture, in inventions. In people. When you think like this, you can begin to understand the humanity and beauty in even those you dislike the most. You can love your friends and family more, as you notice even more of their mannerisms and tendencies, and realize just how much they mean to you. To zoom in so you notice the smallest details is to appreciate the whole more than you could ever have imagined.

Being able to recognize how beautiful every little thing around you is means that there will always be something to be there for you when you need it; when you wave hello to the dandelion in the sidewalk, it will always wave back. Even in the darkest times, you’ll always be able to see something— Maybe not a ray of sunshine, but the subtle glow of the world around you.