Joy

June 27, 2016

Greetings from where I find it,

And there it was.

There is a place on my run where the road rises slightly, crests a small hill.  There are trees growing on either side of the road, some arching up over the road.  Just beyond the last pine tree, the road slopes away and the horizon opens up to gently rolling farmland.

I have run by these houses hundreds of times and only seen two large white dogs who lumber out to roar at me.  I know that they will only tromp to the edge of the trees and go back to the porch having fulfilled their duty.  I have never seen a person here, usually passing by at an hour that even farmers will still be looking at the top of their coffee mug.

I was thinking about a conversation I had some time ago with a friend about what is ‘sustainable’.  We were talking about a challenging time he was going through and I had offered (unsolicited) advice on some practices to even out the day.  His response was that all of that kind of help he had ever heard was not ‘sustainable’ in the face of everyday life.  ‘Who has the energy for meditation when you have to get a two year old dressed to go to a funeral?’

On this morning, in the dim hours before my run, I had been reading ‘Daring Greatly’, a book filled with great insights in living a balanced life, and I found myself wondering about how much of it was ‘sustainable’.  I had just re-read a chapter about gratitude and joy, and as inspiring as it was, I found myself asking the same question about how practical it was in my chaos.

And there it was.

I was running ahead of the sun, up the small rise past the cluster of houses in the copse of trees.  I was covered in sweat, already five miles in, body working almost as well as it was going to.  Ahead of me I saw a man walking to the end of his gravel drive, pause and look both ways along the two-lane, and then walk across the road to his mailbox.

He was beautiful.  A man of an age that would likely have placed him in the Greatest Generation, he moved easily, without hesitation in his step.   He wore slippers; I’m certain chosen for their outdoor versatility, the likelihood of trips to the mailbox being high each morning.  And he wore pajamas of a gorgeous shade of Robin egg blue. 

He glanced my way as he headed back across the road to his driveway and saw me running toward him.  I saw him smile, flip a small wave at me, and then did a pantomime of a man running.  He was enjoying it, this little unspoken connection between us, slowly pumping his arms, gently lifting his knees, as if he were demonstrating how someone would run in Robin egg blue pajamas.

There was something in this that struck me.  This incongruous image, the grizzled man in pastel cotton, his impromptu ‘running man’ across the macadam, and the sheer silliness, the sound of him chuckling at himself, or me, as I ran by.

A few miles later I turned and looked back east across the young corn, glistening green in the morning sun.  I stopped there and let the beauty soak in, let the passion for this day fill up, felt the sun warm me to my summer bones.  I realized standing in that gorgeous moment how much the morning had given me to be grateful for. 

That morning I had read: ‘Joy comes to us in moments—ordinary moments.  We risk missing out on joy when we get too busy chasing down the extraordinary’.   Brene Brown makes the case that joy, and gratitude, build resilience in us.  Any time we add either to our day, it gives us the strength to contend with the other challenging realities that threaten to fill every moment.

Sustainable?  Why not?  Yes it takes being intentional, but we are choosing that all day anyway.  We choose what to focus on, what to retain, what affects us.  Go into the day expecting to find joy, expecting to see beauty, and it will come to you.   The day will not arrange itself in the order we need it, so we have to be open, aware of what we are being given.  Even stuck in traffic.

Whatever difficulties this day brings us, we should know there has already been put the joy we need.  Not all inspiration comes in dramatic sunrises.  It can be unexpected chocolate, a call from your best friend, a kiss you didn’t know you needed, a prayer answered, a chance to play.  Sometimes it is in a book you read, or in the painting you create.  Sometimes it is in a full dishwasher.  Sometimes it is in the door you hold open, or the kind word you weren’t going to say. Sometimes it comes in Robin egg blue pajamas.

Hope this finds you soaking it in,

David

Copyright © 2016 David Smith