An Ode to Joy and Ruined Plans…Oh! And Some Ways I'm Creating My Own Sense of Wonder
Pure joy. Pure delight.
I mean the kind of joy that radiates throughout your entire body.
We had bought tickets to take our little girl to her first baseball game, and she was stoked. She even decided against wearing a princess dress that day and put together a special outfit for the occasion including socks up to her knees.
I wish you could have seen it…her outfit and the joy she was displaying.
I wish we all could have experienced it the way she did.
We got there early so we could enjoy all the pre-game anticipation, we ate hotdogs and nachos and peanuts, and we were joined by a couple of our friends who have kiddos around the same age which added to the excitement.
The game had just started, and we managed to get through just shy of one inning before the foreboding clouds that had been making their slow way our direction suddenly decided it was time to let loose, and by that I don't mean that it started sprinkling a bit and pitter-pattering a bit and slowly turning into a downpour giving you time to seek shelter.
Nope. It went from not a drop of rain to be seen to an all-out deluge within seconds.
We were some of the lucky ones who had reserved seats underneath the awning, but all the people who were not so lucky huddled in and crowded the area, and we all made room for them because we were all in this together, after all…it's kind of beautiful, actually. The way people make space for one another in times like that, but that part of the story is for another time.
So there we were, huddled under the massive overhang and somehow still getting soaked. We were all anxiously waiting and hoping that the rain would give it up, but there wasn't a chance of that happening so because we all paid good money to be there, we kept waiting for the officials to call the game, and as we waited, the rain came down harder and harder.
The adults were all strategizing how to make it back to the car as safely and dryly as possible.
And that's when I looked over towards my sweet, princess-obsessed, but also adventurous 4-year-old who stood just outside of the shelter with her eyes closed, her face and hands lifted towards the sky letting the rain rush over her.
And she was giggling and giggling.
I wish I could have bottled those sounds up somehow for the times when I forget what laughter sounds like, what pure joy sounds like. It’s too easy to forget sometimes.
Realizing there was no possible way for us to enjoy watching the game at this point even if they decided to keep playing, we started the arduous journey back to our car, running from shelter to shelter.
All the while, the kids were laughing and dancing and running towards every opportunity to get more soaked.
We walked as fast as we could with squinted eyes, barely able to see through the rain while our little one laughed more than I have heard her laugh in a very long time.
She was beaming and squealing with delight, and asking if she could jump in the muddy, adult-knee-high puddle that was more like a waterfall that had formed from the runoff that was rushing down the street…and she was thoroughly disappointed when we told her no because she would have been swept away.
But this did not dampen her joy one bit, and she kept on singing her beautiful song, and I so wished I could have joined in.
She was soaking up this moment more than our socks were soaking up the puddles. Deliriously happy, she kept dancing through the rain with her dance partners, Joy and Wonder, to the tune of her own laughter.
It didn’t matter to her one bit that the game was cancelled.
It didn't matter that we had to leave our friends and go home.
It didn't matter that we were sopping wet and cold, and that we had no clothes to change into once we got in the car.
It didn't matter that it would be a long, uncomfortable ride home in bumper-to-bumper traffic in this torrential downpour.
All those things that us adults were worried about? She could not have cared less.
Every bit of this experience was nothing but a joy-filled adventure for her, and she fully embraced it with wide-open arms.
We finally made it back to the car safely even though we were soaked to our bones. Only once we got settled into the shelter of the car and got to shed our wet shoes and socks did we feel relieved enough to join in with our own chorus of laughter.
We sat there for a moment before putting the car in drive, and thought about how much of life is about perception, and how our life-experience drastically affects our perception.
We saw the rain as nothing but a nuisance. We know the consequences of getting caught in the rain from experience so we over-focused on the misery that would surely ensue instead of basking in the present moment that was bringing our daughter such joy…
She saw this sudden rainstorm as the happiest of surprises, like the rain was a gift sent from above, specially for her.
Another moment when my kiddo had to get out of the pool because of a thunderstorm and instead of being upset, she decided to turn it into an impromptu photo session complete with a rainbow backdrop
And looking back, I see now that our perception that was shaped by our past experiences dulled our ability to see and experience joy and wonder along with her.
If you've read my other writings, you know that I am not a proponent of forcing ourselves to think positive all the time because I think that it can disconnect us from our true feelings, from our authentic selves.
And I get that, as adults, we have to think about such things as getting to the car safely and making sure we're not going to "catch a cold" from wearing wet clothes for too long. We have to do the boring stuff like do the dishes and laundry, and sometimes all that stuff sucks.
But what if there were a way to do all the adult things while also allowing ourselves to experience joy and wonder?
Here's the thing about those two marvelous and seemingly elusive things, joy and wonder. They are not reserved only for small kids. I believe they are necessary parts of living a truly fulfilled life, and therefore, we don’t outgrow our need or desire for it.
And yet as we get older, we don’t as readily allow ourselves to experience these marvels of being human.
And so we spend our lives feeling like we’re missing something, focusing too much on the “shoulds” and being miserable because of it.
But what if we could somehow cultivate more joy and wonder in our humdrum, everyday lives?
When we lived abroad, we got to travel quite a bit more than we do these days. It was so easy to go to a new country every couple of months because we were surrounded by a convergence of cultures by living right in the heart of Europe. There was always some new adventure, new experience, new something all the time.
We were hardly ever bored, that's for sure. When we moved back to the U.S., we determined that our five-year goal was to be bored for a while.
But that five-year goal got checked off our to-do list pretty quickly. It's amazing how quickly we can get bored as humans.
Unfortunately, it's not so easy to travel these days between work, financial restraints, a pandemic, and having a small kid (even though she's a great little road-tripper). Needless to say, our avenues to travel have been drastically narrowed.
And so, I've found it more necessary than ever to cultivate a sense of joy and wonder, right here in the mundane.
I may not be able to travel as much as I used to, and baseball games won't be coming around again for another few months, but I’m realizing that joy and wonder are not a destination that you have to work hard to get to before you can experience them.
I believe joy and wonder can exist right here, right now.
Shall we start looking for them or perhaps create our own?
Just like home can be right here, wherever we are on our own unique journeys, so can joy and wonder…we just may have to make it.
snapped this photo simply because the shadows made me happy
Here are a few ways that I'm creating joy and wonder for myself, and I'd love to hear how you are creating it for yourself:
Going outside on my deck with my cup of coffee in the morning, taking a few deep breaths, looking at the trees and sky, and listening to the sounds of nature. Sounds cheesy, but it's working for me.
Taking time to notice small, maybe not-so-noticeable displays of beauty, and then taking an extra second to take a picture of that beauty.
Painting--I've never painted before but I discovered this lady on TikTok (andrea.nelson.art) and she shows you how to do all sorts of really simple art projects. I'm learning, but allowing myself to be a beginner and just enjoy the process has created a spark. Now, the question is what do I do with the paintings?
Collecting rocks--I used to have a rock collection growing up. I don't think I ever really grew out of it, but I think we pretend to outgrow things because they're "just for kids," but I recently allowed myself to start collecting rocks again. It's become something that Molly and I like to do together sometimes. We found an arrowhead recently and fought over who got to keep it. She's four. She won. Obviously. But still…we created some joy together, and it was beautiful.
How are you creating joy and wonder for yourself? I'd love to hear!
