Maybe I’m not like most people, but seeking out the little joys of each day did not cross my mind until I was well into my fifties. Too much buzz was taking place before then.
Much of my early years can best be described as being in survival mode—just hanging onto whatever my hands could grasp.
When it wasn’t a matter of survival, I was busy searching out what might give me a quick jolt of pleasure, like those little bottles filled with caffeine you see in convenience stores nowadays.
Seeking out joyous moments in my life today is a different pursuit. Often it begins with me just being still. Hearing my breathing. Counting my steps on the sidewalk. Petting my dog’s belly. Eating a piece of cinnamon toast like my mother used to make. Reading a page from Tom Sawyer again. Following an ant down the side of my pine tree. Bouncing a basketball in the driveway. Hearing a train whistle from beyond the hill. Putting on the watch my father gave me. Opening the door for a man at the grocery store.
Such joyous moments rarely take place in front of my television set or computer screen.