I’ve been thinking lately about what makes life delightful. I think about this a lot, partly because so many things in the world (advertising, the news cycle) work hard to make us discontent and unsettled. I was born a very happy and optimistic person, but finding meaning and joy in the tasks of daily life is definitely a way of thinking that I have cultivated over the years. Partly inspired by blogs and Flickr posts back in the day as I was beginning my adult life, I loved seeing photos and reading words from women a bit older, a bit wiser than myself. Moments in time captured in photos, showing dishes on the table after a meal, garden harvests waiting to be washed, baskets of eggs collected, kids toys scattered on the floor. Always and forever the same refrain in different words - time goes by so quickly, we only have this moment, slow down and settle into this one life you have been given, find connection to everything in the world around you.
I shared something here a few months ago that I wrote about the path through our field that leads to the woods. The walk back to the lake via that path takes about 15 minutes at a good clip, 30 or more if I take my camera and the light is lovely. I try to do the walk back often - it always feels like a manageable amount of time, and I tell myself that things need to be checked on often at the camp. It can take as short or as long a time as I like, more or less. Some days, it’s a brisk zip there and back after work and before dark. Sometimes there’s magic like the fresh snowfall on the day I took these pictures, and a few hours pass as I putter along.
One afternoon last week on a quick jaunt, the phrase “find the novel in the familiar” came to mind, almost as though the trees were speaking to me. Of course, I applied the idea first to my walk - what could I find on these very routine walks along the same path that was new? Changed from the last time? Added rabbit or deer tracks, fallen leaves, the grouse who I scare, and who scares me in turn? What could I change in order to find newness? Go further off of the path, look up more often, listen more carefully?
Then I considered the things that are less obvious… perhaps the angle of the sun that has shifted again, just the slightest bit - and illuminates a tiny sapling between two large firs. The pendulous water droplets at the tips of branches that capture distorted reflections of the trees that hold them. The roar of the wind high in the trees, and the way that they move with such ease. (Which then prompts, of course, thoughts of the age-old wisdom and lessons we can learn about behaving like trees in stormy weather - holding our ground, not fighting the wind, relying on each other to shelter us.)
After thinking of the phrase in connection with one of my favourite places to enjoy, I wondered about the less fun and beautiful parts of everyday life. How can I find the novelty in writing reports for work, driving familiar routes, buying groceries, cleaning the bathroom? And I realized that I actually have unconsciously found ways of making even those tasks feel more enjoyable. (In the same order: getting set up comfortably with tea and music, listening to podcasts and audiobooks / taking a different route, making menus with things for us all to enjoy / making the most of sales / taking advantage of ordering online, and making my own cleaners.) Not to toot my own horn, but I even manage to get excited about garbage collection day - it’s known as “Trash Tuesday” at our house, and I try to make it an event. It is, like so many other household chores, satisfying to have done, and it is strangely pleasing that people actually come and take it away. And since it needs to be done anyway, why not try to make it just a bit more bearable? And dare I say, fun?
I fully realize that this whole approach to life may sound unrealistic, silly, or foolish to people with different dispositions and life situations, and I do hesitate to share my enthusiasm sometimes for fear of eye rolls and disbelief that taking the garbage out can be a joyous task. Of course I’m not ecstatic to do the dishes every night, but I am grateful for food to eat and dishes to wash and family to share the work with - I know that in an instant, everything could change and thinking about the choices I make to enjoy daily moments could be the furthest thing from my mind. Which is kind of what makes it all the sweeter, I suppose. So roll your eyes if you must - it’s Monday night, so I’ll just be over here getting the garbage ready to put out in the morning.
