Earlier this month, I started taking a writing class. We are writing weekly exercises inspired by Ross Gay’s Book of Delights. Part of our charge is to find, and write about, a delight every day, as Gay had done in writing his book. I hope to share my delights along the way.

Delight #1 — Making Art with Friends

I am blessed to have a few long-term friends. (Not a lot, but a few. Another note might explore the hows and whys, the comings and goings, the slings and arrows of those friends who are not beside me today. Navigating intimacy is complex, and gently excavating its contours might help us grow and heal. But right now, I want to bask in delight’s sunlight.) 

When I think about my long-term friendships, I think about creating art. 

Several years ago, I sat with an artist friend to create two mixed-media collages. (Let me preface this story by saying I am not a visual artist, and the long-term friend who invited me to create together is a talented visual artist.) The collages were to be entered into a competition sponsored by a local gallery focused on collaborative art making. If I remember correctly, the pieces were supposed to focus on a central theme. We chose the theme of “heart,” I think. Sadly, the jurying never occurred.

We sat down one morning at her table after having previously thought through what we would create and corralled materials. (As an artist, she did all the heavy lifting in that area, providing canvases, paints, glue, etc. I printed a few images for us to use and sections from an essay I had written to cut and paste into the work.)

That was indeed a delight full morning. The comfort of our 20-year friendship — the layers and texture, the honesty and vulnerability, the creativity and the beauty. The courage of her invitation. It all moves through our lives and our art as the years unfold. That is the art of friendship. That is the delight of friendship. I celebrate and give thanks. The spaces where we can be our whole selves are treasured calm. I also grieve the friendships that have come and gone, like seasons and tides. The delight lives in the calm. The delight lives in the falling apart and back together. The delight lives on the canvas and in the paint and glue.   

Delight #2 — Shipwrecks in the Straits of Florida

What you don’t know is that life can thrive in wreckage.

A few years ago, we lived in Miami. We had moved there from Cincinnati for my husband’s job. During the more than six years we lived there, we visited the Florida Keys — a twoish hour drive from Miami to Key Largo, the most northern stop — more than 50 times. A staple of our visits to the Keys was spending time on the Great Florida Reef, one of the world’s largest coral reef systems extending through the Straits of Florida. The Florida Current passes through the Straits and the Reef. As reported in that beacon of democratized knowledge, Wikipedia, because of the Current, “Ships began wrecking along the Florida Reef almost as soon as Europeans reached the New World [in the 1600s].” 

We can explore the shipwrecks by snorkeling or diving across the Reef’s vast breadth and shallow depth. That is a delight. What happens in the wreckage is pure magic. Snorkeling over shipwrecks means witnessing the Reef build new life around, between, throughout, underneath, and over the ruins. Over time, marine life creates an entire ecosystem that thrives in the wreckage. 

I remember snorkeling in the Reef. I am by no means an expert diver or snorkeler. I often persist through panic. (Persistence might be a delight, too.) Knowing how difficult snorkeling is for me makes my delight more understandable. You don’t have to dive too deep to experience delight. When you see life flourish — fish swimming, plants growing, coral corralling, there are no words, only an understanding of what it means to thrive amidst steel. As a storyteller, my panic vanishes as I dream of pirates, strange lands, and conquests. Marine life is a modern pirate finding wealth in the sea. 

There is something delightful and poetic about thriving in wreckage. 

The reefs delight because they testify to life’s beauty and resilience in the most beautiful and resilient way I can imagine. They are delightful because they remind us to pay attention to what happens beneath the surface of our lives and our natural world. They are delightful because they highlight life’s fragility, strength, and interdependence. They are delightful because they connect us with possibility, wonder, and awe — moments often lost to everydayness.

Delight #3 – The Parable of the Light Under a Bushel

The parable of the light under a bushel is a delight. Why? Because it celebrates the fact that we all bring something unique and beautiful to this world and that we must not hide our unique and beautiful light. I spend time thinking a great deal about my light. Thinking about my light and heading toward my light is something I have always done. Like breathing. How can I nurture it amongst the fear and anxiety? How can I maintain it amongst the tidal wave of all that is? How can I protect it from the noise that drowns out my still, small voice? I ask those questions as I mark my steps.

The parable is delightful because it reminds me to persist, especially when my knees are weak and my voice quivers. The parable is delightful because it takes me back to my childhood and my full-throated, heart-exposed, tiny, and mighty self who was so connected to my light I could not stop shining. The parable is delightful because it tells me that I can and must share my light and that in sharing our lights with the world, one connection at a time, as Ram Dass reflects, we walk each other home.

Delight #4 – Cat Puke on Concrete Floors

Our elderly cats consistently puke on our concrete floors. Though inconvenient and often worrisome, it is a delight. Let me explain. It is delightful to make things right quickly. Grab a paper towel and some cleaner, apply some elbow grease, and all is right with the world. 

If only, in general, my life cleaned up so easily. If only, in general, I let go of anger so sweetly. If only, in general, the residue could be neatly put in the trash and carried out to the dumpster. That would all be delightful.

A few lessons from cat puke: Address the situation immediately. It is always harder to clean up later rather than sooner. Don’t overreact. At the end of the day, the floors are concrete, and the cats are as healthy and spry as always. Find your concrete floors. Head toward ease.

Delight #7 — Finding Lost Things

I thought I lost my wedding rings the other day. I was panicking and crying and scurrying around the house. After about 15 minutes, late to a lunch commitment, I ran downstairs and asked my husband for help. Wiping tears, I explained I could not find my wedding rings. He thought for a second, looked down at my left hand, and gently pointed out that they were indeed right there on my fingers where they were supposed to be. I had been looking for them in every corner of our house, and they had been on my hand the whole time. That was delightful.

Delight #6 — Starting a Yoga Practice, Again

I have completed two 90-day yoga challenges — 90 classes in 90 days — during my more than 30-year relationship with yoga. Both of those challenges started on January 1st of the respective year. This January 1st, my yoga challenge did not start. (I am not sure I believe in yoga “challenges,” but I guess disbelief, specifically the freedom to disbelieve, is a delight, too.) This year my yoga challenge started several days after the 1st. 

The freedom to begin, again, is delightful. I let go that it was not January 1st and could still start. I stayed present to what yoga is about – breath and connection to myself and the world opened to me on my mat. To return to the parts of me that cry when I stretch and breathe. The parts I only know when I fold and bend. My favorite yogi used to say our mats are mirrors of our world. Looking in the mirror can be scary and delightful. I know, especially when I return to my mat after a long time, that all sorts of feelings emerge from the emotional ooze when I begin again. Sometimes, it makes me not want to return to my mat. Life can be too scary to look at. 

That is the delight of having begun, again, many times. I know that, eventually, I will find comfort on the mat. I know there is power in beginning — in choosing — and that power is delightful.    

Delight #7 — Women Who Resist

Women who resist are a delight. I have been paying attention to women who resist a lot lately. Resistance — not only in the political sense, though our women political leaders are champions of strength in an alarmingly weak world — but also in the generative sense. It is delightful to see resistance that imagines and creates and builds. Women are doing that right now. It is delightful to see resistance that forms the connective tissue for healing and growth and change. Women are doing that right now. It is delightful to see resistance that reminds us how to love and be loving in this world. Women are doing that right now. 

Resistance is delightful because it is the antidote to cynicism and cruelty and fear. Resistance is delightful because it is born of a love for and the belief that the not yet must be better than what is for everyone. Resistance is delightful because it is shape-shifting and asks one question, “What can I do to ease the pain of the world?” Questions are delightful. Action is delightful. Love is delightful.

Delight #8 — Truth and Facts

I choose truth and facts. They are delightful. I remember when telling the truth was the right thing to do, so I did it. It did not hurt that telling the truth has always been the long game for staying out of Trouble’s scope. I remember when knowing the facts — like scientific knowledge — kept me and those around me healthy. Curing polio and measles was delightful evidence of the value of truth and facts.

We have arrived at a global moment where truth and fact are as debatable as opinion. That is not delightful for many reasons. It is not delightful because trust dies when you abandon truth and fact. Trust dying is not delightful. Everything relies on trust. Debating truth and fact is not delightful because making shit up harms people. Harming people is not delightful. Debating truth and fact is not delightful because life’s grey requires thoughtful critique and analysis, not lies and obstruction.  

Delight #9 — Editing

As the daughter of a high school English teacher, I learned about the beauty and necessity of editing early on. Those words are probably never spoken regarding editing, but hear me out. A delightful part of editing is, as Ann Lamott explains, “shitty first drafts.” The permission to write shitty first drafts encourages us to start, get busy, edit, keep going, edit, and eventually cross a finish line — is delightful. The relationship we build with ourselves, our work, and others (if there are others around) when editing is delightful in the way that flexibility, generosity, and kindness are delightful. Editing demands time and time is delightful in the way that slowing down, savoring, and awe are delightful.

I know this requires slaying the dragons of red pens and painful commentary many of us have received in our collective writing pasts. Fear not. Those dragons need to die. We must quiet our voices, and breath must return to our earnest and loving chests. We don’t need to carry that weight. Delight comes in drafting. Delight comes in the gentle back and forth. Delight comes in knowing that Amish quilt makers intentionally slip stitches because only God is perfect.

Delight #10 — Good Enough

Once upon a time, I heard Barrack Obama say, “Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.” That was delightful permission to breathe. Delightfully, that advice required me to develop a definition of good. Philosophers have been thinking about “the good” as long as philosophers have been philosophizing. My delightful definition of good sees the diamond in the rough, finds the angel in the marble, values process alongside product. My delightful definition of good celebrates the journey without celebrating mediocrity. My delightful definition of good hears the bell and knows when to return to my corner. 

Not demanding perfection is delightful. Perfection is paralysis in the guise of high standards. Perfection is silence when a voice must be heard. Perfection is despair when it is time for hope. Perfection kills curiosity and imagination. That is why I will be delightfully good enough.