Yesterday I spent a lot of time thinking about whether I’m enough. Today, as I was on my way into work, I watched someone playing with their dog at a park and saw the dog lose its mind over that ball. I’m beginning to think that dog may have this whole happiness thing figured out better than I do.
Throw the ball, chase the ball, find the ball, bring the ball back….
HOLY SHIT, SHE THREW IT AGAIN?!
No deep dive into the psyche. No concern about whether or not this is productive. No wondering if maybe she should have learned by now that the human is only throwing the damn thing because she knows it’ll be brought right back.
Just absolute, uncomplicated delight.
I’m not sure when adults become suspicious of that kind of happiness.
Kids don’t need a reason to be delighted. Give a kid a cardboard box and there’s a decent chance the expensive thing that came inside it is about to be completely ignored.
Adults are different. We want our enjoyment to accomplish something.
We justify it. The hike is exercise. The trip is good for our mental health. The expensive camera lens is an investment. The weekend away is necessary because we’ve been working hard. Apparently simply saying, I want to do this because it makes me happy isn’t always enough.
I’ve already established that I use billions of dollars worth of satellites to locate Tupperware hidden in the woods. The ridiculous thing is how satisfying it is when I find one. Especially a good one.
Somebody takes the time to build a clever container, hide it somewhere most people walk past every day, post coordinates on the internet, and then a bunch of grown adults wander around looking suspicious while pretending they aren’t searching underneath park benches.
Then I find it.
My realization? For about thirty seconds, while I am looking for that container, I am the dog with the tennis ball.
And then I do it again.
Photography still does it to me too.
Not every photograph. God knows there are plenty where I look at the back of the camera and wonder what the hell I was thinking.
But occasionally everything happens at once. The light is right. The expression is right. The horse’s ears are actually pointing forward for once. I press the shutter and I know before I even look at the screen.
Got it.
That’s delight.
Sometimes I keep that bottled up inside my brain, allowing the client to see it for themselves when I post the image on my website. Other times, I turn the camera around and show them right there.
Why?
Because I want to share that delight with them.
There’s something pretty cool about watching another person’s face change when they see an image they love. Especially when it’s a photograph of someone or something important to them. For a moment, I get to experience my excitement and theirs at the same time.
Maybe delight is a little contagious.
I’m finding delight in another person again too. Not just the big romantic stuff. Honestly, it’s mostly the little things. A text I wasn’t expecting. Something she says that makes me laugh. Her hand finding mine. Watching her get excited about something and realizing I’m smiling because she’s smiling. Sometimes it’s her dog doing something completely ridiculous and both of us laughing harder than the situation probably deserves.
Those moments aren’t accomplishments. Nothing has been achieved. Nobody gets a certificate.
They’re just good.
My boys can still do it too. They’re adults now, which means they’ve developed sophisticated adult ways of giving their father shit. I’m strangely proud of this. Every once in a while one of them says something so perfectly timed and inappropriate that I have two simultaneous thoughts:
That’s fucking funny.
And:
Yep. I definitely helped make that.
When we’re younger, delight comes constantly because everything is new. First bike. First car. First camera. First kiss. First trip somewhere.
Maybe getting older doesn’t mean there are fewer things to be delighted by. Maybe I’ve just gotten better at walking past them.
A really good cheeseburger. Perfect coffee. A stupid meme. A sunset. Finding $20 in an old jacket. Green lights all the way across town. The dog greeting you like you’ve returned from a ten-year expedition when you’ve been gone twenty minutes.
None of these things are going to change my life.
Maybe that’s the point.
I’ve written about play, being ridiculous, savoring things and finding wonder again. Apparently I’ve spent a fair amount of time lately trying to figure out how to enjoy being alive.
I may be overcomplicating this.
Delight might be the simplest version.
Something makes me happy. I let it.
There are enough serious things in life. Bills are serious. Work can be serious. Relationships deserve to be taken seriously. Raising kids is serious. Losing people is serious. Figuring out who the hell I am at fifty-something has occasionally been pretty serious too.
But serious doesn’t have to occupy every available inch.
There should still be room for stupid jokes, clever geocaches, photographs that make me grin, radios that somehow reach halfway across the country, unnecessary computer projects, holding someone’s hand and dogs that believe a tennis ball is the greatest achievement in human history.
None of those things need to make me better. They don’t need to teach me anything. They don’t need to move my life forward.
They’re allowed to just make me happy.
Maybe that’s delight.
Throw the fucking ball again.