A few months ago, I went away with a life-long friend to a fancy, schmancy health spa. In addition to daily massages, laughing a lot, talking non-stop, and eating the most delicious “skinny” food ever—we actually got around to taking several exercise classes.

One class was divided into two parts, with two different instructors.  First, a twenty-something, size 2,  long-legged, girl coached us through her routine.   She had created and orchestrated each move to coincide with music she mixed just for the class. We placed this three-foot long roller, in, on and under, various body parts and rolled out the kinks from head to toe. Being one who could easily get a contraption like this, rolled around my neck, I was especially appreciative of her easy, clear instuction. We moved from one position to another as if it were the next, most natural thing to do.  In short, it was obvious she had carefully crafted every detail of this class for maximum benefit and pleasure. This was her art form. Her canvas. She brought so much of herself and her sensibilities into our class, it was imposible not to find her love of teaching infectious.

Her artistry became even more clear when the rest of class was taught by a tall, bespectacled,but  fresh-faced young man who reminded me of Ronnie Suder, my fifth grade, foot crushing , square dance partner. He dutifully went through the motions of the stretch class, this time making me feel that I was moving more into a double, half-hitch. Cut and dried. Fluid, no more. And, his dead pan delivery—-well, let me stop the ctiticism and be positive here. It was the cure for insomnia. Clearly, his inner artiste, resides in another venue.

The point of all this is to say—–when we love something, we bring our own flourish to it. THAT is our art. We are all capable of creating our own form of art in this life. We can do it every day. Creating it and then, sharing it— brings us, and everyone around us—–JOY.

One more story…..about another every day artist.

She is the sacker at my neighborhood grocery store. She never puts too many heavy things in one bag.  She knows to put all the cold things together—-on brain searing hot days in Dallas—-that’s a very big deal.  She puts the magazines and the greeting cards in their own little bags so they won’t mate with the wet produce which would keep me from reading them once I am home. She never puts the eggs UNDER the giant, glass bottle of spaghetti sauce.

It may not seem like an art–until you get someone who does the exact opposite……the bag handles break, just as you come in the door—-spaghetti sauce and eggs spewing into a giant pool of what was supposed to be dinner.

Who are the artists in your every day life?

Just the simple act of paying attention will make you feel like you are living in a more beautiful, more caring, more sane world.