I noticed cracks in the sidewalk…
Twenty-five years ago, I attended a business meeting in Paris. Not the 19th Century Central Paris that lives in our dreams with grand boulevards crossing cozy neighborhoods, but in the business district, La Défense, a mid-20th century fantasy of steel towers and glass façades surrounded by smooth concrete plazas.
Approaching midnight, I walked alone through plazas lit only by high-pressure sodium and metal halide street lights. No color. No signs of life. Just aging concrete.
A pool of yellow light interrupted brutalist walls to reveal an old-fashioned French Cafe. A familiar hearth far away from its usual domain. Life breathing through concrete cracks.
I stopped feeling alone.
Are cracks a problem to be fixed? Or are they where beauty lives? Japanese Kintsugi pottery draws the eye to broken edges healed with gold. Flowers bloom in neglected parking lots. A cafe owner moves in when the landlord can’t find a more modern alternative to fit the master plan.
Life doesn’t care about the plan. Crisis happens and cracks accumulate. We have scars. And maybe scars are where meaning can be found. Maybe they are beautiful.
Keep Chasing Lights.
Gunnar
chasinglights@gunnarbranson.com
