Joy is the mostly invisible, the underground union between us…

      – Ross Gay, The Book of Delights

I’ve long been a fan of the idea that we can make our own small joys in life – noticing beautiful moments, finding a pocket of quiet in a noisy space, and occasionally choosing poetry over reality TV. Of course, on some days even small joys are scarce, and all of them stand in contrast and complement to our sorrows… so when we find them, woah, it’s pretty great.

The truth is that all of these joys, in ways big and small, depend on the kindness and efforts of others. This week I cheered the return of Boston’s swan boats in the early morning light, installed by unseen others. I delighted in the sound of a child’s laughter, a child I’ve never even met. I reveled in the crunch of a sugary churro, though I had nothing to do with its creation. I was buoyed by the glow of narcissus in the freezing rain, blooming without any encouragement or acknowledgement from me.

Dear ones, may we be grateful for the trails of joys that others leave for us to discover.

May we offer our own in return.