Beauty, for me, is one of those elusive yet utterly concrete feelings that accompany us throughout life, without us always consciously thinking about it. It's not just something that can be measured, photographed, or framed. Rather, it's a subtle current that runs through our daily lives, and sometimes pauses to remind us that the world isn't just practical and functional. When I look out the window in the morning, I see how light slowly creeps along the walls of buildings, how the color of the sky changes from dark blue to pink and gold. At that moment, it seems to me that beauty is not somewhere far away, but right here, in the ordinary rhythm of the day. It's enough to stop for a moment and slow down, and suddenly even what I considered obvious becomes special and valuable. The trees in the park, which I have passed by hundreds of times, suddenly show their branches from a new angle, the leaves tremble differently, the shadows lengthen and shorten. I perceive it as a silent conversation between nature and me, in which I don't need to say anything, just be present.
Similarly, beauty in people appeals to me, not necessarily the outward appearance that is put on display. Rather, it's the kind that manifests itself in a gesture, in the tone of voice, in the way someone holds a cup of coffee or smiles when they think no one is watching. Once, I saw an elderly man on a bus helping a woman with a heavy stroller. He didn't wait for thanks; he simply quietly pushed and then returned to his seat. At that moment, it seemed to me that beauty lies in such unassuming kindness. It's not a grand gesture that could be publicized, but precisely because of that, it feels genuine. I am also touched by children who are not yet ashamed of their joy. When they run through the grass, shout, jump, and laugh without restraint, I see in them a pure, unbridled beauty that is often lost with age under layers of worries and expectations. I try to cultivate this childlike ability within myself – the ability to rejoice in small things, without needing anyone to acknowledge it.
Beauty within myself is harder to define. It's not something I can see in the mirror. Rather, it's a feeling of harmony, when my thoughts, body, and surroundings momentarily converge in one place. This happens, for example, when walking through a forest, when I manage to turn off my internal monologue and simply perceive how my feet touch the ground, how the air smells of resin, and how my heart calms down. In those moments, I feel that beauty is not an external decoration, but a state of being. It's within me because I am able to accept it, and at the same time around me, because I open myself to what comes. Sometimes it appears when writing, when sentences form themselves, and I feel that something true is taking shape on paper. Other times, it's with music, when notes strike exactly the place that has been stiff within me for a long time. Then I realize that beauty is not just what is pleasing, but what touches and changes.
I've noticed that modern society often teaches us to consume beauty. We send each other photos of sunsets, filter our faces, and constantly evaluate and judge. But true beauty, as I perceive it, defies quick consumption. It requires time and attention. When I walk home in the evening and see the lights turning on in the windows, how people move within their apartments like shadows, I feel a quiet poetry in everyday life. Each of those apartments has its own story, its own worries, and its own joys. And it is precisely in this diversity, in the fact that we are all so different yet equally human, that I find profound beauty. It's not perfection, but rather truthfulness. Even in pain and imperfection, there is sometimes a special kind of beauty – in scars that tell a story, in tired eyes that have seen much, in hands that have worked and cared.
I try to perceive beauty, but also to create it, even if only on a small scale. I tidy up my desk, put a flower on it, prepare tea so that it smells good and is comforting. It's not something grand, but in that gesture lies an effort for order and care. When I send someone a message that isn't just practical, but also contains a genuine interest, I feel that I am contributing to making the world a little kinder. And kindness is one of the forms of beauty for me. Similarly, silence that is not empty, but full of presence. Being with another person in silence, without needing to prove anything, is precious and beautiful.
Sometimes I miss beauty because I am too busy or tired. Then I have to remind myself of it. It's enough to sit on a bench and watch people walk by. Everyone has their own rhythm, their own way of walking, their own expression. Suddenly, individuals appear in that crowd, and each one is unique. At that moment, I realize that beauty is not reserved for exceptional moments. It is everywhere, we just have to learn to see it. Even within ourselves. When I look in the mirror in the morning and see a tired face, I can either criticize it or understand it. The second option is more beautiful for me. It means accepting myself with everything that life entails – aging, mistakes, imperfections. And this acceptance opens up space for a quiet, subtle beauty to settle within me.
I think the beauty around us and within us are interconnected. The more we can see it externally, the more we discover it internally. Conversely, the more we reconcile ourselves with ourselves, the more sensitively we perceive the world. It's not a grand philosophy, but rather a practical experience. When I walk in the forest and feel my shoulders relax, my breath deepen, I know that I am in harmony at that moment. And that harmony is beautiful. I don't have to explain it; I just need to experience it. Similarly, when I sit with someone close to me and we don't have to solve anything, just being together, I feel that beauty is not in what is happening, but in the fact that we are present. That is the core of my perception of beauty – presence. The ability to be here and now, open, attentive, without the need to judge or possess.
So, I try every day to find at least one moment when beauty manifests itself. It could be the smell of coffee, a warm ray of sunshine on my face, the sound of a bird outside the window, or the quiet awareness that even with all the worries, I am still capable of feeling. In these small encounters with beauty, life seems fuller and more meaningful. It's not an escape from reality, but rather a deeper immersion in it. Because true beauty, as I perceive it, is not separate from life. It is part of it, its quiet companion that carries us along, even when we don't talk about it. And that is why I want to continue searching for it – around me and within myself.
Prokop Stach