Finding Joy in Ordinary Things
the richness of ritual + savoring simple pleasures
Each night, before I go to bed, I transfer my neatly folded stack of clothes from my bed to my desk chair, which lives two feet from my bed. Each morning, before I sit down to start my work day, I transfer the neatly folded stack of clothes back to my bed. Sometimes the socks topple over and I place them back on top of the folded underwear, which sit on top of the folded shirts, which sit on top of the folded pants. I marvel at my soft, mostly-cotton pyramid before walking away.
I could walk the extra 30 feet to my dresser and stash the clothes in there but I don’t. I’ve come to like seeing my essential wardrobe, having my options exposed, afraid that a piece of clothing I particularly like will slip under a not-so-beloved item and soon turn into the long-forgotten. Maybe I like the simple, repetitive ritual of moving the clothes, of gingerly placing them on the chair and noticing if my stack holds up or if it threatens to tumble. My own silent game.
This has been going on for about a week. I thought about stopping, about walking the extra 30 feet and storing my clothes away. But then I watched Perfect Days, at the recommendation of
, and I decided I want to keep it going. I want to continue the ritual of watching the stack slowly deplete as I wear clothes and then throw them in my bin, eventually folding freshly laundered clothes and creating the stack anew.I encourage—if not *implore*—you to watch the film Perfect Days. It is a breathtaking depiction of how rich our lives can become when we tune in to the ordinary. This film elevates the mundane in a way that refreshed my appreciation for life’s simple, repetitive, familiar pleasures. This whole film felt like one longer glimmer to me, a concept that is subtly laced through most of my reflections but I think I’ll write about it more explicitly soon. I wrote a bit about it here:
The film is not action-packed. It doesn’t culminate into some dramatic event. It is a window into the sequence of everyday routines. The main character’s days look almost exactly the same (Groundhog Day?) except for the fact that each day is differentiated by pockets of savoring, of complete presence—a brief connection with a stranger, the way sunlight streaming through a tree creates a mesmerizing shadow on an adjacent wall. I felt my nervous system unclench while watching this film, and within that softening, a reminder of how I really want to live came back into view.
I want the type of pleasure that can be braided throughout my day, the kind I can pick up in a moment’s notice by stopping to look up. Pleasure has become a code name for sex, a thing we do with another person or something that is rewarded to us after a long day’s work. The more I feel the limits of time, the more I want to also pay attention to the kinds of pleasure that transpire when I simply look and listen—when I watch how the clouds move across the sky or hear a trill coming from a tree and try to spot the bird who delivers it.
I’ve been trying to notice where I starve my pleasure throughout the day through distractions or lack of attention. I’ve made a point, recently, to eat my meals without scrolling on my phone or watching something. The other day I ate lunch on my roof and noticed my entire body unravel once it was in the sun. I watched my neighbor spray paint stands she’ll use to sell flowers. I watched a man walk by with his dog and stop to talk to the neighbor. I heard her announce she’ll be selling vegetables on Wednesdays this summer. I have the best radishes! she exalted.
I watched two crows fight for food on the nearby power line, one of them trying to steal some sort of mush from the other’s beak. I felt the anxiety around having enough time dissipate as I became more situated in the expansiveness of that moment. As my presence grew, so did my interest in the uneventful tasks of a typical day.
Rebecca Solnit writes:
“I eyed things and was spurred and pricked and bothered by the promise things make, that this pair of boots or that shirt will make you who you need or want to be, that what is incomplete in you is a hole that can be stuffed with stuff, that the things you have are eclipsed by the things you want, that wanting can be cured by having, beyond having what is essential.”
Years ago I heard abundance is wanting what you already have and it has stayed with me since, like a tattoo on my mind and heart, most likely because it’s something I need to hear over and over again. Maybe noticing begets noticing. Maybe if I pay attention to the rhythms of an ordinary day with more presence and precision, those bigger gestures and decisions will feel less rushed or forced or encased in fear. Maybe I can learn to unclench my fist around those what if’s and let life pool in the palm of my hand on its own.
Our next Sex Ed Book Club meetup is May 30th at 6:30pm in Burlington. Our book is The Other Significant Others by Rhaina Cohen but this article about the importance of play in adult friendships and this article about centering friendships are also great ways to prepare for our meeting.
I think I'm going to have to make watching the movie my solo Artist Date ✨
Your writing is so beautiful!