The Year of Delight

Tuesday morning’s commute to the office was like every other day, listening to NPR but mostly paying attention to the thoughts in my head. It’s not a long drive but is peppered with lots of traffic lights.

Yellow turned to red as I rolled to a stop. The program on the radio suddenly registered in my mind.

What?!? This guy spent a year writing in a journal every day documenting everything he experienced that delighted him?

Wow, this story really paused the “brain swirl” that typically commands my mind’s attention; it stopped me in my tracks.

Tell me more, I thought, as I turned up the volume and realized the light was now green. My parking lot was just around the corner, and I knew I was going to stay in my car and listen to the end.

The words had piqued my interest not because my year was so delightful but because my year absolutely was not.

I had been a journaler most of my life. There was a large plastic tub in my hall closet full of journals from my young adult years. I had filled them mostly with crushes on beautiful boys and personal scoldings and sadness about my body's size and shape. Reading those old writings did not last long because the memories were never very uplifting. Young adult memories were mostly “doom journaling.”

Daydreaming at my desk after lunch, I thought to myself, what if I bought a new black nondescript notebook and just tried to find something delightful each day to write? How funny would it be to write enjoyable, poignant things in a plain black notebook? If somebody ever found it years later, at minimum, the juxtaposition would be a surprise. Mostly it would surprise me if I could find something delightful every day to document.

That evening as I left work, I took the time to read the graffiti painted on the overpass and wondered about the tiny little flower that grew in the sidewalk crack. I noticed the traffic wheezing by me and how the sound was rhythmic and strangely methodical. Shit, what was happening? Was this “Year of Delight” journal idea going to turn me into an observation poet? I chuckled at myself, knowing I was absolutely going to drive to Walgreens and buy that black notebook.

May 7, 2014

Dear Diary,

It was a cold and grey day. As I walked to the 7-11 on a busy expressway, I was surprised to get a long lingering wif of seasoned wood burning as it swirled around my head. A familiar smell, just not one I knew from this downtown location. The scent transported me quickly back to Park City, Utah, and my 14yr old self.

It triggered the feeling of walking in ski boots, cla clunk cla clunk, along the brick path next to the lodge. The crunching sound of dirty snow and ice beneath my feet. After a long day on the slopes, I felt that feeling when your body is tired but energized simultaneously. Sometimes my favorite part of a ski day was when it was over. I approached the front door to our cabin with the smell of chimney smoke settling my mind. Soon, I would be in longjohns laying on the living room floor with my brothers, comparing ski condition notes from the day. Delightful.

To my surprise, after just a few days of writing in my black notebook, I found myself becoming a keen observer of things that genuinely tickled my memory. How in God’s name could this small shift in perspective change how I saw the world? I was still in my miserable job; some would call me a chronic worrier. Did I have enough money? Would Dad figure out his mounting medical costs? Would I ever find the job of my dreams? Can my old Volvo survive another winter? The only time I rested from worry was when I spent a little money to treat myself to a good meal or a fancy coffee; hell, I even questioned this purchase two weeks ago of the small black notebook, not to mention the lottery ticket I splurged on that day.

Twelve weeks later, I had woken up with a terrible head cold. How would I find anything delightful to write about today. I called in sick to work, knowing piles of paper and emails would be waiting for me tomorrow. I felt the pressure of my sinus and the pressure of my life as I looked at the unopened envelopes from yesterday’s mail. I knew there were bills in that stack I would never be able to pay.

An antique teacup, a bag of cough drops, and a warm bed were calling my name. I picked up my “Year of Delight” journal, my favorite pen, the stack of bills and headed to the bedroom.

After 3 hours of desperately needed sleep, I woke up ready to face the pile of mail. As I reached for the envelopes, I clumsily knocked the tea and somehow sent the journal crashing to the floor. Whew, nothing was hurt. I notice that the old lottery ticket I had been using as a bookmark flew from the page it was marking and landed under the nightstand.

Funny, I could not remember if I had ever checked it for winning numbers? I must have, right? I mean, winning the lottery would have been a dream indeed; I had to have checked it? Leaning back into my extensive pillow collection, sinus pressure still in full force, I realized bending down to get that lottery ticket would not be happening today.

I closed my eyes and thought about my life. It was pretty much unchanged since I started writing in the little black journal. My worrying habit was still in full form, but still, as I lay there, I felt surprisingly happy!

Happy, a simple feeling one I don’t naturally linger on or analyze, or stay in very long. I knew that the only thing that had changed for me was my newfound love for seeking out what delighted me every day and then writing about it.

I lay there wondering, could I harness this happiness I felt? Did I have it in me to document it for a full year?

What if I could find delight in the things that caused me pain? Or even better, what if I could decide that if something did not bring me delight, I could eliminate it from my life altogether?

As I contemplated the possible answers, I was beginning to blow my own mind. Stacks of bills, lottery tickets, and worrying about work were starting to take a back seat.

My goal, finish “The Year of Delight” journal with just 38 weeks to go!

Okay, class, thank you for your attention today; gather up your notebooks, slide your chairs under the desk before you leave, enjoy and delight in the day.

I knew I needed to wrap up this “Year of Delight” college writing course quickly. The movers were packing up my things, and I had to pay them before 3:00 pm. I would stop by the old apartment, do a final walk-thru and then head to my new cottage in the hills. I could not have predicted that 2018 would be the year I became a homeowner. All I know is I was super happy about it!

When I arrived at the apartment, movers were still stacking my things carefully in the back of the truck. Steve, the lead mover, was in the unit finishing up.

The living room surprised me a bit. “Seems bigger when nothings in it, right?” Steve shouted from the kitchen. As he approached me, I could see he had a couple of small items in his hand. “Found some odds and ends, you may or may not want,” dumping them on the counter.

Oh my goodness, the precious single gold earring I had lost two years earlier. I picked it up gently, “It looks like it had been in the sofa cushion all along.”

I thanked him profusely; those earrings were my first celebration purchase and splurge. I was asked to teach my “Year of Delight” writing class to a group of executives looking to find a better way to craft their corporate cultures.

I was paid more for that 4-week class than I had made the whole year prior. Those earrings symbolized the dramatic change my life had taken since that fateful day in 2014, listening to a simple story on NPR about a man and his daily writings about delight. I had managed in 4 years to transform what I believed about the world and my life and share it with others.

Steve pointed out that was not all he had found. He was holding a dusty lottery ticket from under my nightstand. I took it from him, furrowing my brow, trying to remember how long ago I had lost that?

He reminded me you could only claim winnings up to 60 days after the drawing, but how funny it would be to check to see if it had been a winner?

With that remark, he put his work gloves back on and headed out; he would meet me on the other side, unloading my stuff into my new cottage and my new life.

My mind was spinning a bit when I thought back to the last time I felt the need to gamble for my income. I knew I had not purchased lottery tickets in a very long time.

2014 had been a pivotal year; I changed jobs, found nonprofit support for my Dad’s medical bills, and finished my first Year of Delight notebook. Back then I believed that I needed to win the lottery! Every other solution seemed entirely out of reach.

Something unique came over me as I stood in my empty apartment. The person who rented this place so many years ago was nothing like the person I had become. Everything was different, and in some ways, everything was the same, except my perspective. Oh yeah, and my bank account.

I guess I could google the date on the lottery ticket. What would it hurt to find out? Right?

May 5, 2014 winning numbers 06,11,26,29,44,49

I read those numbers three times before I realized, SHIT?!

5 of the 6 were a match.

I walked to the front step, sat down, and took an intense breath. I put the gold earring in my ear for safekeeping until I could match it back up again with its other half sitting in my packed-up jewelry box. I tried to hold back the well of tears beginning to form in my eyes. That ticket and that money could have truly changed my life back then. So many things would have been different for me.

What surprised me most was the reason I was crying.

I knew now deep in my heart if I had cashed in that 20,000 dollar winning ticket, my immediate circumstances would have changed for the better; relief would have washed over me. Unfortunately, I was sure I would never have continued the daily search for delight, and I know I would not have written about it as a ritual every day.

Who would I have become?

It was at that moment crying on the porch, acknowledging the life I was leaving behind, understanding clearly how magical the world can be.

Sometimes the thing you wish would happen so desperately is precisely the thing that need not happen.

The simple act of seeking and noticing the beauty in my daily life opened up a whole world. I remember honoring my commitment to myself, maybe for the first time.

Now I could see the power of creating my success with my mind, curiosity, and a little black notebook.