I was playing golf yesterday and hit a bad shot. I hit my ball above the ideal point of impact, causing it to slide across the grass rather unflatteringly. “Terrible”, I mumbled, only slightly infuriated with my abysmal display of skills. Regardless, the game had to continue.
I walked towards where the ball lay, continuously rebuking myself for giving up the chance of a birdie. But in the midst of this stress, my partner pointed out what I saw everyday on the golf course, but never noticed. She was smiling at the way the rays of the sun reflected off the white flowers in the grass.
This stirred a thought. If I had been playing on this course for 9 years, how is it that I had never stopped to admire these flowers? When I looked at them now, I was amazed by their petite beauty. “Woah!” I was momentarily shocked. Those small white flowers resembling feeble cotton, were coloured golden, and seemed to smile at every passerby. I smiled back. At this moment, I felt privileged. I felt so, because I had noticed the flowers and all they encompassed. If this beauty was displayed for everyone to see, I felt privileged to have found it.
But the irony lies in one question. Did I really need to find the flowers to spot them? After all, I had walked by them for years. However, I had not noticed them, and this is what made that moment special. Similarly, I do not need to look for inspiration in order to find it.
The humblest moment can provide inspiration for the grandest of things. In this particular situation, the sight of a few flowers caught in the sun inspired me to write a short piece, and unlocked a host of morals.
However, this moment of inspiration can be made special by a choice. I could either choose to merely revel in its joy, or turn it into to something larger than it was intended to be. By choosing the latter option, this impassioned moment is immortalised. The chain of events that follows may cause a ripple effect. It is then not only the initial recipient of inspiration, but several others who benefit from that one, small and humble moment. It was thus my choice. I could either let the flame continue to be a flame, or I could turn it into a fire. I chose the latter.
See you soon,
[P.S. : Read, ‘Ode To A Nightingale’, by John Keats for a similar perspective]