Putting beauty into words is like putting a ship into a bottle. I know it’s been done, but hell-if-I-know how to do it. However, beauty is all around me and, for better or worse, ships in bottles are not. Glancing around the coffee shop, I see the hands of a fiancée dancing playfully, her partner’s thigh center stage behind the curtain of a table top; their conversation the score, their laughter the applause. On the wall is a menagerie of drawings, paintings, and photography, their placement by the clerk as deliberate as an artist’s brushstroke. One piece is a slightly psychedelic orchestration of colors and shape, contrasted by the work next to it, a raw, colorless charcoal interpretation of the human body. I’ve come to a realization that there are two types of people in this world: those who chase beauty, those who create it, and those that appreciate tired old jokes. Go ahead and laugh if you see yourself as a Renaissance man or are sensitive to being excluded.

[TANGENT] I think I should have become an artist. Here’s why: when I think of Beauty, nine times out of ten I’m thinking of the fantastically feminine female form (that sounds classier than saying “naked woman,” right?). This, ah, “appreciation” is programmed into me, much like my hatred for Nickelback. Unfortunately, society seems to frown upon a greater appreciation of the female body or sexuality as it if were some unnatural perversion. Someone could devote a dissertation on why this is, so I will not attempt to answer it in this space. Fortunately, there is a way to escape this unfortunate taboo: simply transcribe your “perversion” onto a canvas using paints and oils and hang it on a wall. Try to keep it classy, though: keep the legs closed or covered. Upper body is fair game. As an artist, I could study, lust, and seemingly obsess over the female body. If I had known this, I would probably be a much happier man, and also a great deal better with oils. [/TANGENT]

Definition: the quality or aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably exalts the mind or spirit.

Those who chase beauty are not unlike a cat chasing a laser pointer: they are driven to chase something over which they have no control, and the excitement is only temporary—quickly replaced by the next distraction. The chase is never the same, and we never know where it will take us; it can be thrilling in and of itself. When experiencing a particularly beautiful piece of art, one can travel to all kinds of places. I’ve visited ghosts of girlfriends past, ventured into emotional states that had been vacant for years, even charted new thoughts and ideas while under the influence of aural beauty. (I do particularly enjoy the pleasures of the aural kind.)

Like a proper, patriotic free market economy, both Creators and Chasers are needed to keep things balanced. If you’re not the economist type, think of it like Yin and Yang, except less profound and more convoluted. The Creators, in actuality, are not that different from the rest of us. For example, when a musician Creator goes through a break-up they write a song about it, while the rest of us search out that song to validate our feelings. After such a traumatic event, the layman is left with tears, a broken heart, and a marathon session of Scrubs; the Creator, on the other hand, is stuck with tears, a broken heart, a marathon session of Scrubs, but also an uncanny ability to find beauty through the bitterness and betrayal to share with the rest of the world. Without them, we would be left to an individual existence—buried by a deep solitude in the face of emotional hardship. Creators remind us that we are not alone, or sometimes that we are, and help to articulate emotions when we are at a loss for words.

Etymology: early 14c., “physical attractiveness,” also “goodness, courtesy,” from Anglo-Fr. beute, O.Fr. biauté “beauty, seductiveness, beautiful person.” Famously defined by Stendhal as la promesse de bonheur “the promise of happiness.”

I sip on my coffee, tasting its bitterness and encouragement, and I realize that there can be beauty in moments and memory, triggered by sound, taste, touch. The comedy in life is that the most beautiful moments we experience are not those that we seek out or attempt to create on our own. True beauty occurs naturally: the innocent love of a couple cuddling under the stars, the miracle and serenity of a sunset rising above the ocean, my obsession over Katherine McPhee. Sometimes, it is a feeling that cannot be explained, like the tide, or those who cry from Jackson Pollack paintings. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not asking you to break down under the crushing beauty of a plastic bag dancing in the wind. Though if that’s how you get your kicks and giggles, don’t hold back. Some people liked Transformers 2 and 3, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to judge them. Just kidding. Those people are stupid.

Like Oompa Loompas indulge in choreographed song and dance about life lessons, indulge me in a quick thought experiment. Try to think of five of the most beautiful experiences in your life. OK, good. How many of these things are pieces of art, movies, or concerts you’ve seen? How many are songs you’ve listened to? Now how about moments that you’ve experienced on your own or shared with others, ones that are unable to be confined to a song or a canvas? Before I turn into a Preachy Patrick, I’ll get to the point: next time you find yourself chasing down or attempting to create beauty, don’t forget to experience it in the meantime.