It was only a couple of years ago, when my first gray hairs started to appear. A novelty at first and then an uneasy sense of dread. The latest sign of aging, of coming undone, cresting that hill, just after receiving those tacky greeting cards, reminiscent of a cartoon funeral, sitting next to my birthday cake. The type of cards that arrive in black envelopes, their faces emblazoned with the mantra, “Lordy, lordy, look who’s forty!” (My brother thought it was pretty funny then, he probably still does). For me, the process of aging was something that I quietly enjoyed witnessing. It is, indeed, better than the alternative, as I am so frequently reminded in casual conversation. The gray was only another stop on the path, the newest chip added to a mosaic of habits, scars, and blemishes, collected along the way. I have always taken delight in the unique characteristics of the world. The subtle imperfections in the sublime as it were. It offers a certain character, a handhold to grab onto, a means of connection.
There is an ancient Japanese philosophy tied to the aesthetics of the world known as Wabi-Sabi. It may sound funny to the Western ear, but this combination of contrasting principles aptly captures my feelings toward the people and objects that weather the ravages of time. There is a subtle beauty in watching the world wear and mold individuals under her harsh climes. This philosophy emphasizes three fundamental truths about the world: that nothing is ever finished, nothing is ever perfect, and nothing is truly permanent. Architects often play upon this juxtaposition, accentuating the old within the new. In Pittsburgh, I marveled at the artistry of marrying the aging brick foundations and steel appointments from the last century with the clean look of contemporary building designs, almost framing them in modern glass. It told a silent story of what had come before, a personal history of the locale. Instead of plastering over the chipped and worn components, they were prominently on display, distinguishing a unique past, and indeed, identity.
The two contrasting ideas in Wabi-Sabi are very different from each other, but combine in a nearly poetic way. Wabi, a concept which originally expressed a kind of mourning for a wish or goal, unfulfilled; a sadness resulting from a shattered dream. It would take on a more comforting sense of gratitude or spiritual abundance for having less and making the most of what one currently possesses rather than always looking for more. Even being thankful for some dreams that never came true. Then there is Sabi, an expression of beauty which is revealed over time. A continuation of the inner life of a person or object which remains after all the excess is stripped away. Like seeing the individual emerge in childhood, and last through old age with those unmistakable personal traits. These dueling ideas combine to capture what antique hunters have known all along, the value lies in the patina. Collectors cherish the original paint, the grime, and the oxidation, these are the signs of life, repeated use, and care. Even the pieces which are broken hold sentimental value when lovingly restored.
I recall my grandmother’s footstool, a squat little thing, maybe six inches tall and tenderly upholstered in crushed velvet, its nubby legs repeatedly broken then glued back into place. It came with her everywhere that she went. I remembered Grandma’s countless visits, sitting by her tiny red shoes and listening to old stories from a time so long before me that it seemed a fable, a fairytale in my imagination. Her footstool was such an ordinary object, repaired with so much love, it is impossible to consider throwing such a family heirloom away. Come to think of it, this reminds me of the Japanese pottery pieces so often associated with the philosophy of Wabi-Sabi, the repaired cups, pots, and bowls, known as Kintsugi.
Maybe you’ve seen them? Those small Japanese bowls, beautifully glazed, and perfectly shaped to handle the proper portion of an ancient strain of rice or flowery fragrant tea. Pottery, seemingly timeless in our modern world. In the darkness of the cupboard it could be easy to miss the lightning strike of gold running down the side, starting from the lip and spidering down to its base. These pieces of pottery were so well loved, that once they were dropped and broken, they were painstakingly mended using red lacquer and then dusted with gold powder to accentuate the places where the formerly perfect roundness and shine were disturbed. The process stems from practicality and a certain romantic perspective on the beauty of repair. The notion of a gilded seam, binding together the fragments damaged from a devastating fall. The pieces collected and carefully reassembled to make the dish whole again, forever changed in an instant, one unguarded moment; shattered, then remade with lustrous appointments of gold.
The concept has become somewhat trendy these days with people smashing their brand new bowls just for the look of it, a sort of self-scarification for ceramics. I’ve even been held captive in an audience at the mercy of a well-intentioned young lady who spoke with the fervor of a religious zealot on the matter. She swore that handing her fellow missionaries shards of coffee cups was the most clever gift ever to have been conceived. The thought of having them glue together the cheap mugs she’d bought as welcome gifts received more than a few eyerolls in the congregation. This was her icebreaker. I have a slight feeling that she may have missed the point.
It’s funny, I’ve known several people who’ve done the same thing in their own lives. Scars for scars’ sake, perhaps as a means of camouflage, covering those which truly hurt the most. So often we hide our imperfections from others, but we cannot lose sight that in this metaphor we are the valuable item (that which is cherished and loved). We are scarred and sometimes broken. We must care enough to repair the pieces and emphasize those life-shattering moments which have brought us this far, that have revealed our inner strength and our beauty. Embrace your flaws and accentuate your repairs. Make them golden and handle them with care for they tell your story, even your gray hair.
by D. Ryan Lafferty
Note. Originally published in the People Papers column, Literary Crumbs, July 2023.
Literary Crumbs: Poems & Short Stories to Savor by D. Ryan Lafferty 