In a world obsessed with the newest, the fastest, and the flashiest, it’s easy to overlook the quiet, humble pleasures that truly enrich our lives. Illustrator Brooke Barker captures this sentiment perfectly when she describes her dog, Kip—not the jumpiest, not the lickiest, just quietly wonderful. As Brooke reminds us, “the best things don’t have to be the jumpiest or the lickiest.”
This philosophy extends beyond pets. Brooke’s favorite possessions echo this gentle truth: her most beloved ballpoint pens are vintage, well-worn tools rather than slick new gadgets, and her favorite shirt is a humble relic from her fourth-grade soccer days. These items aren’t flashy or impressive by conventional standards. They don’t scream for attention. But they hold deep meaning, layered with memories and comfort.
There’s a universal wisdom here—some treasures gain value precisely because they are unpretentious and enduring. I think of my own cherished books, their pages dog-eared and softened by years of reading. They aren’t pristine collectors’ items but trusted companions whose worn covers tell stories both inside and out. And when I’m dining solo, it’s rarely a gourmet meal I crave—it’s a simple bowl of Cheerios, a small but steadfast comfort that feels like home.
At my house in Brooklyn, one of the things I love most isn’t a pricey art piece or a designer chair—it’s the smudged handprints of children covering our living room windows. These imperfect marks, left by little hands over time, turn ordinary glass into a living memory, a testament to joy, growth, and the beautiful messiness of family life.
These reflections bring to mind a poem by Kate Baer, which invites us to consider what truly matters. What “not-flashy” things do you treasure? Is it a worn sweater that smells like your childhood? The quiet hum of an old record player? A handwritten letter tucked away in a drawer? These small, simple joys—often overlooked—compose the real richness of our days.
In a culture that celebrates constant novelty and perfection, embracing the unassuming can be a radical act of gratitude and presence. The “best things” aren’t always dazzling or new; sometimes they’re the ones quietly waiting for us to notice, to appreciate, and to hold close.
So today, pause for a moment. Look around you. What humble treasures fill your life with warmth? Maybe it’s a dog who doesn’t jump or lick but simply sits by your side. Maybe it’s an old pen that feels just right in your hand, or a faded shirt you never want to part with. These are the things that tell your story, stitch your memories, and remind you of who you are.
In the end, the “not-flashy” things are often the most precious because they carry the weight of love, time, and simple joy. What quiet treasures do you hold dear? I’d love to hear.
