Tell me your delight

On the small joys that save our lives

Yesterday I wrote the longest post—no, truly, the longest length possible on Substack—on the Compassion Brigade. A long-simmering and much-requested guide to life after diagnosis. So today, I have only a handful of words for you to savor. But I hope you can swirl them like finest wine or warmest tea and let them be just-enough for right now.

Mary Oliver wrote a gorgeous poem wrapped around one line. I have never let go of it.

Every day
    I see or hear
       something
            that more or less

kills me 
   with delight

 (from “Mindful” by Mary Oliver)

Since the moment I first read these words, I have made it my small, unshakable practice to look for exactly this each day, something that more-or-less kills me with delight. Over many years I have built up two hard-and-fast rules around this practice.

1. I do not take a picture of it, no matter how beautiful or irresistible it seems. I once read that our phone-addled brains are less likely to remember things when we take photos, trained to rely on technology to do our work for us.

2. I only look for one thing. Once it’s found, it’s found. The deed is done, the search is settled. No need to get greedy, grabbing handfuls of treasures like a child playing jacks. Just one small, shining beauty is enough.

A few favorites that stand out in recent memory: 

A bright red door on a drab house.
A woman helping a stranger pull on the raincoat slipping off her shoulder.
Blue sky and white clouds reflected in muddy puddles.
A man and a girl skipping down the street, hand in hand. 
A bird hanging upside down outside a window, peering inside.
Two men stopping at a corner, looking at each other and laughing out loud.
A child peeping out a bus window, eyes closed with pleasure in the sun.

When I see the delight, it’s a shimmer of recognition. There you are. Nothing earth-shaking, nothing revelatory. But the simple reminder that beauty lives in the present moment. So does God.

One line of Scripture. One poem. A handful of notes from a favorite song.

The smallest gifts can sustain us.

This one obviously didn’t count because I snapped a photo. But a Little Free Library with tiny windows & flower box? And the window on the other side was wired with a tiny light to glow in the dark?! I fall back in love with humans all over again.

So I savor the first morning cup of tea and its steam rising like prayer. I catch sunlight slanting through windows and let myself linger for a moment, eyes closed. My children’s laughter bursts like a cacophony of birds taking flight, and I try to remember this so-fast, so-full season won’t be always. 

Every day one small good is waiting to knock you over with delight. You only need to train your eyes to see. Even in dark days of despair—perhaps especially now, as Dorothy Day reminds us with her “duty of delight”—we must make joy-finding part of our daily work. As the good poet reminded us, it was never made to be a crumb. Whatever joys we collect here are foretastes of the goodness still to come.

“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete.” (John 15:11)

Over the years I’ve collected a handful of books from other writers smitten by the same practice of daily delights. A few favorites are gathered below if you’re seeking inspiration in hard times. (Can I tell you the funniest of the bunch is J.B. Priestley’s from 1949? Which I found in a dusty corner of a second-hand shop—a setting ripe for delights—and includes such small joys as reading detective stories in bed, listening to orchestras tune, and waking to the smell of breakfast.)

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay
Delight by J.B. Priestley
The Book of (More) Delights by Ross Gay
Microjoys: Finding Hope (Especially) When Life Is Not Okay by Cyndie Spiegel

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