The joy of simple pleasures
My friend received a book through the post this week from an unknown sender. She thought I’d sent it. We buy each other books, recommend books and use each others shelves as our own personal libraries frequently. However, it wasn’t me.
The book was Kate Humble’s A Year of Living Simply. The subtitle being; ‘the joys of a life less complicated’. Considering my friend is currently planning her father’s funeral while parenting a 4 year old and a 6 month old, this mystery gift seemed like a curious choice. We’ve known each other for 20 years and her life is without a doubt the most complicated it’s ever been.
The punchline to this story is that it was in fact, her Mum who sent her the book. A discovery that gave all three of us a welcome moment of laughter because, let’s be honest, it felt like a bit of a piss take (her Mum’s words not mine)!
However, this was in fact a beautiful and thoughtful gift from one person who is suffering deeply, to another who’s navigating their own grief, and it got us both thinking, and talking, about the simple joys in life.
For the last week, every morning as I wound up the noisy roller blind in our kitchen - the soundtrack to the start of my day - I’ve been faced with the same scene. A pair of plump wood pigeons sat next to each other on the same portion of our neighbours garden fence. We think their nest is right at the top of the fruit tree that is slowly filling with white blossom - another welcome addition to my morning view. Most days this week, this scene has made me pause and take a moment to smile before reaching into the fridge for the milk.
Now, I haven’t read Kate’s book yet but I would guess that my plump pigeons would probably qualify as a ‘simple joy’. I’m not sure what the determining factors are in Kate’s eyes but I’ve certainly tried to start paying more attention to those day-to-day moments that make up my day, and consequently my life.
Yesterday I went to the post office. I was at the back of the queue and I spotted a beautifully dressed older woman emerging from the depths of the greetings card fixture. She had a tidy blonde bob, bright pink lipstick and a coat covered in a pattern made up of small pink flowers and green foliage. She walked with a stick, commenting to herself as she made her way towards me. I could tell she was eager for a chat so I readied myself.
What came next was five minutes of joy while she talked at me about her four sons, 15 grandchildren and her daughter in law who, against the odds, managed to get pregnant. She didn’t ask me a single question, or pause for longer than it took me to deliver an affirming 2-3 word response - but that was ok. I was happy to listen.
Today I went to the framers. When I got there, the sign read ‘closed’. I haven’t visited for a while so I wondered if it had closed down and Google hadn’t got the memo. However, I saw the owner inside and gave him a knock on the window. Turns out it’s now ‘by appointment only’. He kindly let me in and we discussed the job, chatting away as we went. In a world of speed and convenience where everything passes us by at a million miles an hour it felt like a warm hug being able to take the time to gaze around his shop - a chaotic collection of frames, mounts and works of art. Shelves and shelves of paper records stacked behind him as he hand wrote my paper receipt with his bank details on.
I’ve found noticing these moments to be quite grounding. Alone, none of them are going to set my world alight or change the course of my life in any way, but I do wonder what their collective power could be. What paying more attention, opening myself up to and designing my days to make more space for them could lead to.
At the start of this year, as I actually did the year before, I proclaimed that it would be ‘the year of fun’. Having failed spectacularly to meet this brief last year, it actually felt quite bold to go again. And while I have no doubt this year will be one I make some top shelf memories as I celebrate my fortieth year on the planet, I’m left with the distinct feeling that I’m now officially too old to pin my hopes on a whole year being great. Maybe that’s a depressing thought or maybe it’s just part of the reality and privilege of ageing - shifting from focusing on the few big things that will bring happiness to the multitude of day-to-day moments that could in fact be the things that add up to contentment.
If you feel the same and are in the market for further reading, I’ve also dug out my yet to be ready copy of The School of Life’s Small Pleasures so I’ll end by recounting my favourite chapter of their offering because it made me smile.
The School of Life’s small pleasure number 12 is - The Charm of Cows.
It’s weird they exist at all.
You can’t tell what a cow is thinking, though it’s definitely thinking something.
Cows look great in fields.
They are easy going: a clump of grass, a bale of hay makes them happy; they don’t mind standing in drizzle.
Cows are not selfish.
If you look at a cow for five minutes, a tiny part of it’s tranquil soul takes root in you.
Their ears are designed by a comic genius.
Apart from that, they carefully protect their dignity.
Cows are slightly bigger than you think.
Cows have never rebelled. They harbour no bitterness. They are expert at waiting.
A cow does not judge you; you are what you are, to a cow.
Cows don’t fidget.
They appear to be shy.
By chance, many people drink their breast milk.
They have no faith in politics.
Cows do not suffer from status anxiety.
Cows are not interested in what you think of them.
Cows do not dwell on their troubles.
Nothing you do will ever amuse of impress a cow.
Cows are focused on the now.
Looking at cows can make your day.
Reading this made my day!
Well, what a most welcome piece! Thank you.
Lessness is at the core of my life - at last!
Similarly, as I approach my 40th next month, I'm finding the greatest delight in the simplest pleasures. In my case, it's walking the same route every day, watching how the landscaping changes with the seasons, and taking pictures of the beautiful flowers growing in other people's yards.