Tomorrow I will turn 65. There’s not much beauty in that age anymore. It used to be that you  could retire at 65 with full benefits. Alas, the “Normal Retirement Age” for my birth year is 66. And, of course, since retirement is more a question of money than of age, I figure on working till I reach 67.

This week my brother-in-law has been with us, as we prepared for the trip to Oklahoma City that we’re currently on. He’s staying behind at our house with his mom, my mother-in-law. He, his mom, and my wife, when they get together, talk about the hometown and who’s alive, who’s dead, where someone lived and moved to, who so and so is, etc. It’s interesting to listen to, but I can’t participate much. I know some of the names, as I’ve been in the family over forty years now, but I’m still not a full participant in those conversations.

Anyhow, at some point this last week, one of them (I think my mother-in-law) said, “What a dreary place western Kansas is.” [approximate quote] I’ve heard that before from her, and from her children. In the past I’ve said I find much beauty in the stark plains of Kansas, but this time I said nothing.

It’s true, however. I do find much beauty in the prairie, even the high plains, where the trees are few, vegetation limited, lakes mostly absent, the riverbeds mostly dry, and the towns ten to twenty miles apart. I got my first glimpse of the Kansas prairies in 1974 when I made the short drive from Kansas City to Lawrence. But, that’s eastern Kansas, which even then was seeing development. I had my introduction to the central Kansas Flint Hills area in May 1975 and western Kansas in October 1975. I loved both areas. They have a stark beauty. Perhaps, had I grown up there, I would feel differently. But as one who married into a Kansas family, I found it beautiful.

So, this got me to thinking about the beauty of the world—really of the universe—in its many locations. Having grown up in the eastern megalopolis, I was always amid a manmade environment. When I made my drive west in 1974 to take up my job and residence in Kansas City, I couldn’t believe the beauty of the endless mountain chains in Pennsylvania. Driving through Akron I found beauty in the tire plants on both sides of the Interstate, a different built environment than I was used to. Central Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois each had their own kind of beauty, mostly rural as seen from the (then) relatively new interstate highways. Missouri was an eye-opener, as for the first time in my life I saw frontage roads, seeing three or four miles from one hill peak to the next, and I found it all beautiful. A few months later and I added Kansas to the list of the USA’s beautiful places.

Years later came Saudi Arabia, Europe, North Carolina, Kuwait, several countries in Asia, then Arkansas. And in each place I found a different kind of beauty. The deserts I found beautiful. The dense hardwood forests of Arkansas and the mixed hardwood-softwood forests of North Carolina were equally beautiful. At some point I made the first of several trips to New York City. There, in the concrete jungle, I found beautiful architecture and other things to admire.

So what am I saying? That beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Maybe, at least a little. I think though, rather, I’m saying that you find beauty by looking for beauty in your circumstances. Those circumstances might require you to redefine what beauty is. Which is a good thing, I think. I’ve done that several times in my life, and may do so again some day.

I don’t know that I’ll be able to find beauty in every situation, every location. But I’m up for trying.