I am trying out a new bit of advice that I read recently. The author said that most people go their whole life without raising their head 15 degrees. What he means is, we rarely look up.

I like making every excuse to be outside, especially when the weather is nice. If a restaurant has outdoor seating, I will most likely want to take advantage of it. I don’t mind parking far away at the mall, but in order to walk a little in the fresh air. I even built a screened patio to foil the mosquitoes so my friends and I could relax without flying pests.

As I walked to meet my wife for lunch, I remembered the advice to look upward, so I did. The brilliance of the blue against the swaying green treetops stood out more than any neon sign ever could. I felt an immediate rush of something. My skill as a writer is still so limited; I can’t even come close to comparing it with descriptors. All I can sum up was that it was a moment of both goodness and beauty.

But just as abrupt, my mind began racing to the other concerns of the day. A tension developed between the brief transcendence of that instant and reality of my To Do list. How can I enjoy this visual gift, knowing I have so much to get accomplished?

The amazing thing about beauty is that you can’t save it, can’t bankroll it, can’t stick it in the freezer to pull out for a later date. It has to be savored at that very second. You can try and take a picture, but it won’t do justice.

So here’s what I decided to do. I would receive the pleasure as a gift, knowing full well that clouds will roll in, I will have to get back to work, and there will be other occasions like this one.

If I decide to keep looking up.