Its Own Kind of Beautiful

There was a time when I would have shared this quote instantly. No hesitation.

I was the Bliss Girl.

For years, I ran a blog called Bliss Habits where I explored what I called the Habit of Bliss. I treated it like a long, joyful experiment in noticing wonder. I played with what I called the Virtues of Bliss. In my first year, they were joy, order, creativity, passion, whimsy, serenity, inquiry, community, romance, gratitude, moxie, humility, and surprise. By the end, I had explored 52 different topics. Every week I would dive into one of them and create little games to play. During surprise week, there might be fireworks. During whimsy week, I might send out fancy tea cakes. During romance week, I might write a love poem. It was a world built on curiosity and delight, and it taught me how to keep my eyes open for beauty.

Earl Nightingale once said, “You become what you think about,” and I really believed that. I still do, mostly. Back then, I believed that if I gave each day a little attention and intention, I could shape it into something beautiful. This quote from Mark Twain, “Give every day the chance to become the most beautiful day of your life,” would have fit perfectly into that project.

But that was before. Before my entire life was split in before and after.

Now, when I look at this quote, I feel its weight differently. The idea still stirs something in me, but it also catches in my throat. Because how do you give a day without Jess even the slightest chance of being the most beautiful?

I still believe in noticing beauty. I still believe in gratitude. But now I understand that beauty is not always bright. Sometimes it is quiet and raw, showing up in the middle of grief instead of around it. It hides in small things, like a snail on the path, a patch of sunlight through green leaves, and a memory that makes me smile through tears.

I am not back on the Bliss path, not in the way I once was. But maybe that is not the goal anymore. Maybe beauty now lives in the broken places, in the cracks that let the light through. Maybe giving each day a chance simply means showing up for it, even when it feels impossible.
Maybe that is its own kind of beautiful.