A few days ago, I spent some time in my closet shaking the dust off my hanging clothes, reminiscing about how nice it once felt to put on a proper outfit and wondering if I’ll ever do it again.
I know that sounds extreme to the American readers of this newsletter who are celebrating your vaccinations (yay!) and allowing yourselves to hope once more, but here in the Texas of Canada, we’re struggling through a third wave because of bad leadership from our provincial government. At the rate we’re going, I won’t be wearing real clothes until 2022.
But in that cloud of dust (maybe because of the cloud of dust?), I suddenly decided to try something on. So I grabbed a grey wool blazer—which I always wear with sleeves zhuzhed because I’m hoping it makes me look less like an accountant—and paired it with a graphic tee and leather shorts.
What I saw in the mirror surprised me: I looked good. Less creature, more human. I had thought the pandemic might have changed me irrevocably, transforming me into what I’d assumed was my true form—a hate-wearing, sweatpants-loving, visibly frazzled, can-no-longer-be-bothered middle-aged mess. But my reflection revealed that I could be someone different with not much effort at all. I wondered, “Which is the real me, and which is the aberration?”
So there I was, musing on fashion and identity and the story I’ve been telling myself through the clothes I’ve chosen to wear this past year, when I put one hand in my blazer pocket and heard a little rattle. I felt around and pulled out three loose jellybeans, slightly linty relics of the beforetimes. I’d love to say I considered how long they’d been there in my pocket (or hesitated even for a second), but no: I ate them immediately and without regret. They were pretty tasty.
I’ve said before how I miss random interactions with strangers, but the surprise jellybeans made me miss randomness in general and the small, unpredictable joys that result from being out in the world. Running into friends unexpectedly. Finding lunch-meeting leftovers in the communal kitchen. Buying candy “for the kids” and sampling some of it during the long commute home.
The jellybeans also reminded me of an article I read years ago about Google’s former happiness expert, Chade-Meng Tan, who believes you can train yourself to access joy more quickly by looking for “thin slices of joy” throughout your day. The thin slices, he says, add up, and joy becomes something you can count on.
So here’s what I’m thinking: Before you put your winter clothes away, maybe slip something into one of the pockets—something that will remind you in the future that joy is near, even if it’s only a sliver. You may not want to go with unwrapped candy, lol, but I’m obviously not going to judge you if you do.
Of course, “thin slices of joy” won’t fix a world filled with injustice and inequity. In addition to doing something small for your future self, would you also consider a small action you can take to help improve the future for Black communities? I’m hoping our thin slices of support will add up to something bigger. If you’re looking for ideas, here’s a start.
:) Teresa
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I have eaten
the jellybeans
that were in
your pocket
and which
you were probably
saving
for crises
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so stale
So sorry to hear you are in another lockdown! I wish I could send you all vaccines from here. Your post made me remember when I put on a heavy Irish cable knit cardigan that had been my mother's and unexpectedly found something in the pocket—three round pebbles and a soft, worn blue Kleenex tissue. I remembered the picture she'd sent me of the last time she and my dad went to Zion canyon in Utah, which she loved. She'd been wearing that sweater. I know she put the stones in there on that trip, because she always used to pick up smooth pebbles. When I made the connection between the pebbles and that photo I cried and cried. This was several months after she died after a multi-year ordeal with colon cancer and I know she knew when that photo was taken that was the last time she would be healthy enough to make that trip. It was like she was reaching out her hand to me in the pocket. I'm getting teary just writing this down again. 😥 Sigh.