We are weeks into a new world, and it’s not going well. People are dying. People are getting sick. People are losing their jobs, their health insurance, their grip. I am able to work from home and no one I know has contracted the disease, yet. So far, my privilege has protected me. But I still feel panicked and stressed and stir-crazy. I want to know how it ends, or when, but I can’t. My anxiety is indefinite.
For my job at The Chronicle of Higher Education, I had to spend 30 minutes this week doing something I hadn’t done in days: reflecting on a moment that brought me joy. We put out a daily newsletter, and the editor who produces it wanted some reporters to write a couple paragraphs about our transition to working from home. We were told to keep the tone light and hopeful. I wrote about yoga. How after the first day of remote work, my body felt like “a sack full of organs and goo, somehow still percolating with frantic energy.” So the next work day, I unfurled my yoga mat and swooped through sun salutations next to my desk. It worked, sort of. For 45 minutes, I was in communion with the outside world. I inhaled and exhaled in tandem with others. Writing about those minutes made me linger in the delight a little longer. I had to acknowledge the full weight of my worry, but also the peace I felt when it lifted.
This newsletter is to document those moments, a couple times a week. It’s mainly for me but might be of service to you, too. The title “joy crumbs” is taken from a Mary Oliver poem, which I will paste below:
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the
case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
Right now, I’ll settle for a few crumbs of joy. It’s more than I had before. Thanks for reading, and talk soon.