The First Joy

I was given the book, The Book of Delights by Ross Gay several months ago (2019). I Initially skimmed it and read a few pages, and thought, “How wonderful!” and then did not have time to read it more. Being in graduate school, and working part time and volunteering, gives me little time for much outside reading or noticing little delights. But now I have finished this semester, and I have a little time to indulge in the delights of Gay’s book. His book is a journal of the delights he sees each day, with bits of greater sociopolitical commentary on race and history strewn throughout. He challenged himself to write every day. He comments that while he was mostly successful, he says, “confession: I skipped some days (Gay, 2019, preface),” which beautifully humanizes him. His book, is indeed, is a delight. Since I picked it up, I have been thinking about writing my own version of this, challenging myself to remember how to write every day again for fun (as opposed to writing technical essays for school). Today, I had such a moment, and a few minutes to spare, that I decided this was the day to begin this challenge for myself. It will be a challenge to find the time for this when school begins again in a few weeks, but what better time to start than now while I have some time to breathe. It will be even a greater challenge to find time to notice the daily instances of joy in my life when I am busy in school, but perhaps if I start this process now I can form the habit before school starts up again. I think this practice will help me slow down and notice the joyous parts of life more frequently, and deepen my gratitude for this beautiful world.

#1: The First Joy, Sunday, August 1, 2021

This morning, I walked out to my courtyard with my coffee and The Book of Delights, fully prepared to immerse myself in the book. Instead of immediately opening it, though, I took a minute to look around and notice the beauty. My courtyard is a small grassy lawn surrounded by tall luscious green hedges, dotted with palm trees in the corners. Everything is green, which I love, because to me, green has always indicated signs of being full of life. I sat under my palm tree in the shade, on my wicker chair, in my perfect morning reading spot. This is the place where, when in school, I read my textbooks because having such a delightful place to read makes it a little more pleasurable to get through even the most annoying books such as those on psychometrics that just serve to remind me how racist standardized tests are. (I’m studying to be a mental health counselor; I find it much more fascinating to read about topics such as the Transtheoretical model and much more joyous to read about modern theories and counseling applications that consider ethnicity and culture in their models.)

So, this morning, as I sat under the palm tree, not needing to read but sitting there with a book because I wanted to, I took a moment to appreciate that time. I saw a baby bird walk, well, sort of a hop-walk combination, along the sidewalk, and under the gate, to come inside the courtyard. How funny that the bird chose to walk along the sidewalk like a tiny little human! He could have hopped under the hedges and through the trees as most of the birds do, but no, he chose to take his time and be a bird of society, perhaps. A few moments later, another baby bird came in under the hedges and then flew into the grass. The first bird joined him on the grass, perhaps remembering he was a bird, after all. Then a third baby bird flew in from the other side of the sidewalk and stayed there on the sidewalk a moment. I think the first two birds told him he was a bird, too, and told them to join them in the grass. I watched the three of them hop and play for a few minutes, floating around in the grass, delighting in the joy of the sight.

Then, behind the birds, along the sidewalk, came Miss Penelope, our courtyard cat. She technically belongs to our neighbors, but she has chosen to adopt me and my boyfriend as our humans. She greets us every time we go outside, and we pet her and bring her food and water. So as I watched the baby birds delighting in their play, and Penelope coming up behind them, I got a little nervous. Penelope is a cat, after all, and she definitely knows it. Her favorite past times include being pet — no, more appropriately — demanding she be pet, watching the cool water run from the faucet and into her water bowl, chasing lizards, and chasing birds.

So you might be able to see why I got a little anxious about Penelope coming up behind these precious baby birds playing in the grass. I watched carefully as Penelope slowly walked toward them, and me, presumably to say hello, and then slowly sat down on the sidewalk about eight feet away from the birds. She watched for a few minutes, and then she sat straight up and let out a tiny little, “meow!” I looked at her and smiled. It was clear that she wanted to say hi, but she did not want to disrupt the birds. This funny little cat that demands we pet her regardless of the books and coffee cups in our hands; and spends all evening chasing the birds in hopes of a delicious meal, was so respectful of the baby birds. Yet still her impatient self, clearly. She is her own little bundle of daily joy.

The birds huddled up together and seemed to discuss what they should do about the “meow.” Then they all looked at Penelope, and she looked back at them, and then they flew off to the hedges. It was so beautiful to watch the animals communicate with each other so respectfully, all of them respecting each other and the space. It was truly a joy to watch this little piece of nature play out right in front of me.

As soon as the birds were gone, Penelope ran toward me, in her ever joyful way of running. She doesn’t run like a normal four-legged animal, and now that I think of it, she might also think she is part bunny. She leaps up and hops, clearing at least six inches below her, letting the grass bounce her back up, acting as her vault across the lawn. She ran-hopped toward me and I smiled and stretched out my hand, where she found her comfortable place right beneath, content to be pet and purr once again.

As I wrote this, a monarch butterfly danced in the window in front of me, encouraging me to continue smiling, writing, and being grateful for the moments of joy that nature brings me.

Gay, Ross (2019). The Book of Delights. Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill.

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