I binge-listened to podcasts the other day (and by ‘other day’, I mean sometime in the last year) and on one of the shows the hosts were talking about maintaining mental fitness by finding joy in the little things.
I’m a big believer in this philosophy.
I take great delight in reveling over the simplest components of life. After all, without a substantial deal of trouble, the vast majority of our lifetimes are spent immersed in the banal. The mundane. The humdrum. The commonplace.
How many times have you been told, or have heard the expression, to stop and smell the flowers? Stop and smell the flowers for heaven’s sake!
If you can’t find joy in those small places, quiet moments, you’re going to get lines on your face well before your time. As I listened to the hosts asking their fellow staff members what were some of their ‘joy snacks’, I immediately thought of something that always gives me immense pleasure and subtle satisfaction because it always harkens me back to my youth, and reminds me of my parents.
It’s the characteristic clacking sound of my wife’s brass dresser drawer pulls.
When they’re released after a drawer has been opened, they click several times as the handle contacts the plate. Like a door knocker, but more subtle and quieter. It’s an associative, automatic pleasure that I heard thousands of times when I was living at home. It meant security and comfort—I knew one of my parents were within close proximity. My mom would open and close the dresser drawers frequently in the morning as she prepared for her day. On Sundays, even more so, in search of all the accoutrements necessary to be presentable at church.
It’s an unexpected joy snack now. The tintinnabulation of gently knocking dresser handles.
Other joy snacks for me include:
Hummingbirds anxiously awaiting the feeder each morning during the winter months—when temperatures at night would freeze the nectar—constitute another small delight.
Eggnog nightcaps spiked with bourbon.
My four-legged ambassador happily padding about the local cider house sitting for strokes and love pats and numerous “whatta good girls”.
Catching up with the neighbors about neighborhood activity, throwaway small gossip and — depending on the neighbors — geopolitics.
It’s important to recognize the little things which bring you quiet, unassuming joys because it aids in beating back the modern world push for grand gestures, attention-grabbing events and the insatiable appetite for bombastic, public behavior. Joy snacks — and our appreciation of them — are the alternative for those of us not inclined to participate, or participate avidly, in the social media race no one will ever “win”.
A large portion of the world’s billions of people probably know this intuitively and do not need convincing. They inherently know the value of the smallest of gestures, the most sublime, understated, yet still breath-taking setting — corners of well kept gardens, a simple hollow filled with a hardy sampling of elm and oak, a room with a view.
It’s those of us caught up in our consumerist society who need the ‘stop and smell the roses’ reminders. No one wins anything for being the most interesting man on the planet. No one earns extra lives for posting the most exciting activities.
This is not to say you shouldn’t dream big. Or you shouldn’t chase the wildest of dreams.
It’s to say — don’t demean the overlooked, tiniest, pleasures of life. Don’t short shrift those banal things which bring a smile to your face. Help you rise up each morning. Give you reasons for continuing to put one foot in front of the next.
This last cross-country road vacation was precisely the sort of vacation I love. It was filled with dog-wrangling, leisurely mornings enjoying coffee and pastries with family, brisk dog walks down arroyos and through green spaces, discovering neighborhoods by foot we’ve never visited in all these places we love and intriguing eateries wherever we went.
But one of the small things I’ll not soon forget was the “funnel cloud” we witnessed while rambling across west Texas. It was dark and twisting on the horizon and for a moment I worried we were about to be accidental storm chasers as we were driving toward it at the maximum highway speed allowed in Texas.
Suddenly it morphed from a funnel to a spaceship to a fantastical fungi, and I realized it was a huge flock of black birds doing their own version of performance art. It morphed again and again and again. I’d read of murmurations of birds but this was the first time I’d seen a murmuration that fooled me. I honestly thought it was a twister.
The flock of black birds disappeared from view as fast as they had arrived. Leaving the two of us with an indelible memory that didn’t cost a dime.
You will want to watch this Saturday Night Live skit SEVERAL times. Trust me. One of the funniest I’ve ever watched. Titled Washington’s Dream.
The White House has rarely looked so lovely and this “take” on The Nutcracker is exquisite. Give it a bunch of views just to piss off the haters who walk amongst us.
James, that was beautiful! Of course anything having to do with my adult children and two little grandsons is always a joy! However, I thought of these too, Feeding the Blue Jays shelled peanuts in my backyard, sitting in a field of bluebonnets, and staring at the night sky looking for constellations. Many more of course, but those came to mind. Thanks for helping me look at joy today!
So happy you’re back to writing again! I’ve missed you little brother. One of many joy snacks are fall leaves blanketing the front yard and volleyball national championships 🤘🏻