Small, Ordinary Joys
I have been paying attention to what steadies me instead of what demands me. It is smaller than I expected. It is enough.
My pockets of joy, recently:
Driving home after dropping the boys and noticing how many people are cycling to work. I know cyclists irritate half the internet, but there’s something steadying about seeing gardeners with sun-worn arms, painters with splattered overalls, construction workers with their backpacks, pedaling into the day. It feels ordinary and hopeful at the same time.
Listening to music louder than I can scream. Darren upgraded my sound system for Christmas, and now I get to absolutely lose it to Florence and Chappell in my car like I’m auditioning for a stadium tour that no one asked for. It’s unhinged in the best way.
Watching students in PEP Home debate between two cushions like it’s a life decision. We live near the university, so this time of year I see them everywhere, holding fairy lights and duvet covers, trying to make four blank walls feel like something softer.
Seeing people buy flowers for someone they love. Valentine’s meant watching nervous boys and very determined girls stand in front of buckets of roses, calculating stems and budgets. It’s so fucken cute I can’t even pretend to be cynical about it.
Not being the first to know everything. I used to live in a constant scroll, absorbing every tragedy, every headline, every “did you see?” in the group chats. My nervous system was constantly lit up, and my body kept the score. There’s a strange peace in letting news arrive when it arrives.
A cup of tea. I don’t have a poetic way to end this. Tea fixes almost everything.