A perfect day
The vulnerability of cultivating joy when the world is on fire
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Hello.
A warm, evening Spring breeze came off the lake, lapping against rocks as Noah bent down to throw another one in the water. With wind-whipped hair, I watched the sun set gently behind the hills, basking in a gratitude I’m often afraid to feel.
It was the perfect day.
A solo trip to the YMCA for a quick run before meeting my sister at the nursery, where we loaded up almost TWO carts of wildflowers and pollinators for a garden I’ve been planning since February.
Hours spent in the hot, afternoon sun, whispering blessings as I planted the coreopsis, the lemon balm, butterfly bushes, yellow and orange and red cornflowers, pausing to deeply inhale the bush of rosemary before situating it in the clay earth.
“I promise to take care of you and appreciate your beauty,” I patted the earth gently around each fresh mound of dirt.
Later that evening, while walking from the car down to the picnic table, carrying the food my husband packed, I slipped on some sweet gum balls and fell. While the pain was a momentary disruption, it was clear even that was a gift.
My mother-in-law was still in the car and had already fallen twice during her visit with us. I was able to tell my husband to help her down the hill and keep her steady to avoid risking a more serious injury.
A blessing in disguise.
From the coffee I drank on our front porch in the morning, thinking of my grandmother and her days spent doing the same, to the sunset over the lake, reminding me of one of the earliest dates my husband and I shared—everything flowed. Synchronicities and timing lined up like flower-chain daisies, weaving together a profound experience.
But behind the scenes, at every turn, there was a little goblin hiding behind the curtain, taunting me with images of possible disaster. Countless ways the perfect day could be spoiled—and drastically so.
This is a phenomenon Brené Brown calls “catastrophizing,” placing a barrier of fear between our capacity to feel joy.
Joy is not a constant. It comes to us in moments - often ordinary moments. Sometimes we miss out on the bursts of joy because we're too busy chasing down the extraordinary moments. Other times we're so afraid of the dark we don't dare let ourselves enjoy the light.
—Brené Brown
Part of what makes joy difficult to embrace is a sense of guilt and shame.
“Who am I to deserve this? How dare I allow myself to experience a good life when there’s so much suffering! The world is literally ending and here you are sitting on your ass enjoying a goddamn sunset, for crying out loud!”
The heaviness of that internal dialogue shapes every ounce of what I allow myself to receive in this life.
And yet.
In spite of my own limiting beliefs, fears, and inner goblins, yesterday was perfect. And I let myself feel the momentum of it, the ease, the flow.
For hours at a time, I was in a state of “self-forgetting.” The shovel and hoe became extensions of my arms. The dirt creeping into my shoes and through my socks lodged itself in my toenails. Heat from the sun warmed my cheeks, and the scent of bee balm and lavender infiltrated my senses until there was no “I.”
“Indeed, one of the highest pleasures is to be more or less unconscious of one’s own existence, to be absorbed in interesting sights, sounds, places, and people. Conversely, one of the greatest pains is to be self-conscious, to feel unabsorbed and cut off from the community and the surrounding world.”
― Alan Watts
We’re in an era of extreme self-awareness, constantly labeling and comparing, trying to do and be better. There are generations of trauma to process and heal. Wars and genocides to end. Litter to clean and pollinators to save.
We’re connected through the cables of information embedded in deep-sea channels, influenced by our fear of being left out, left behind, not being good enough. But overloading our nervous system with endless stimuli is not true connection.
The promised reward for hypervigilance is not, in fact, peace.
Slipping into a state of constant thinking, analyzing, and problem-solving dulls the rest of our senses, taking us out of our body and the present moment where the information/data we need to not only survive but thrive really exists.
“When analytic thought, the knife, is applied to experience, something is always killed in the process.”
—Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Yesterday, for a brief moment in time, I put down the knife. Likely, I will pick it up again today. And that’s okay.
But before I’m tempted to wield it against life, explaining, arguing, pointing, or trying to make it something other than what it is, I might sit on the porch for a few moments and watch the birds pull strands of dead grass from the lawn to make a nest.
I might say “Thank you,” to the newly planted flowers and this time, offer myself this blessing, “I promise to take care of you and appreciate your beauty.”
All my love,
Mariah
Your turn.
I’d love to hear from you!
When do you unexpectedly catch yourself in a state of “flow?”
Is your idea of “the perfect day” getting in the way of actually experiencing one?
What goblins emerge when you start to lean into gratitude and joy?
Connection Circles Invitation 💞
Hang out with other messy, creative humans leaning into the practice of gratitude and cultivating joy.
Join us for our bi-weekly Connection Circles! These intimate Zoom gatherings (limited to 10 participants) are a nurturing space where we can share our challenges, celebrate our wins, and work alongside other creators and caregivers who understand. Our next session is on April 23rd from 10:30 AM-12:00 PM EST and there are only 7 spots left!
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Ah, this is lovely!