A Day of Simple Joys
And what it reminded me about who I am
I’m not the first person to say that one of the (perhaps least important, but probably most lasting) side effects of this pandemic is that I’ve forgotten to have fun. Seventeen months of constant togetherness with my kids, plus a Covid-era move to a new state, plus, you know (gestures around) *all this to worry about* has made it hard for me to find connection with the part of myself that I used to know quite well.
I used to be the kind of person who scheduled my life around spots of joy. They didn’t have to be gigantic, expensive, or overwhelmingly great. I’m talking an artichoke for dinner, an hour or two looking at art in a museum, a coffee meet-up with my friend. These little stepping stones of fun carried me over the rough waters — those days when I learned of a friend’s parent passing, or my kids clung to me needily, or I had so much work that I had no idea how I’d finish.
Instead, in this new era, when so many days bled, one into the next, I tried to schedule fun, but it never fully came through. Or when it did, it was almost entirely unexpected, as though a laugh had snuck in the open door and surprised my family. Even when I planned a movie night, or a game night, or s’mores over the fire pit, when my husband and I got an unexpected night to eat takeout in our car (woohoo), I always…
