On Joy, Whimsy, and Contentment

 Well, like all the blog posts that have come before, I would describe this one as "poorly thought out," or "half baked." We'll see how it turns out, if I'm able to weave together the disparate threads winding around my mind lately. 

Today, I am feeling supremely content. A feeling I am consciously sitting in, rather than ramping it up to pure and rapturous joy. I'm listening to music I love with the windows down, but I'm not maxing out the volume, or driving too fast. I have the windows down, but just up a little bit, because I actually don't want my hair whipping around my face that much. It's like when I (very occasionally) go for a run, and have to remind myself to keep a reasonable pace instead of running absolutely as fast as I can. Because when I'm running, obviously that is fun for a block or two, and then I'm burnt out and heaving. I can't go as far. And it's not that I think I'll burn myself out on joy or happiness, but there is something that happens when I get like that. When I amp myself up to the utmost. I suppose in a way that can be literally exhausting. And unsustainable. I don't really have a lot more to say about it I guess, other than that I am relishing in my contentment. There's no real excitement. Nothing in particular happened today. I just am feeling satisfied and peaceful and like my heart is swelled up, but not too much. And I want to hold onto that feeling, not run it into the ground. 

Also, when I opened this page up to write, I saw the last post I published here-- back in February, experiencing the joy of simmering sauce and dreaming of summer. I had totally forgotten about that-- it was an insignificant day overall. And yet, those daydreams wormed their way into my head and so many came true this summer. I suppose it's not great miracle considering they were mostly food based and mostly came from the holy grail cookbook I have used all year long. But I sure did grow Jimmy Nardellos, and eat new tomato salads, and I've tried beans again although I am still dreaming of more and better. And I cooked and ate beautiful food with friends. And you know what? I did bring me joy and contentment. And as we get into fall, I'm experiencing the same. I'm evangelizing to everyone who will listen about my (huge) napa cabbages. To me, they are a revelation. They are also probably the thing I am most proud of, that I have ever grown. I'm dying for someone I know to eat one, so they can validate to me that they are as good as I think, although of course I'm afraid they won't be. (While we're on the subject, I'm also immensely proud of and excited about my tiny baby winter squashes, of which, by my estimate, I have almost 300 pounds. They need to cure before they are ready to eat, so I really should wait and confirm they taste as good as they are cute before I talk them up all around town, but I can't help myself. And I don't particularly like winter squash anyway, so what am I waiting for, you know?) I've also been struck lately also by the immense satisfaction I have gotten this summer from really earning my own money. I haven't made a lot, but when I think about it as, "I had to wake up every day, and from nothing, earn X thousands of dollars," it feels like so much. And I actually don't think I've even fully appreciated enough how special it is that people all around town are eating food that I grew. I helped work an extremely beautiful dinner, where a large portion of the produce used was mine. I supplied transplants to the Good Mansion garden (and many others). My friends buy my produce. Maybe even my enemies do, too. And when I'm able to really soak that in, it's just the most special thing. 

Thirdly, whimsy. I have it. Do you? If you're reading this, probably yes because I know you. But I have been thinking about it as it has swept across the internet in the last 6ish months, and wormed its way into the vernacular. I think it's a beautiful thing to seek out. And I also believe that it cannot be curated. Perhaps it can be captured, and certainly sought, but I don't believe you can manufacture it. This, of course, is in my brain based on secondhand accounts of gatherings meant to have it, of which I am unreasonably judgmental. (Shocked to learn there is no second "e" in judgmental, btw.) You cannot throw a party that you saw someone else throw on instagram and call is whimsical. Even if it was whimsical for that original host, I don't think it is for you. (I'm open to being wrong here.) But to me, the most key part of whimsy is the "whim." It's a flash of inspiration. Originality. It's having a silly little idea and acting on it. It's personal to you. It brings joy, not stress. (Unless it's the sort of stress that comes from the manic joy you experience in pursuit of executing your whim. We've probably all been there, right?) At the very least, if you're going to execute an instagram party theme, you better have some true love for it in your heart. It better speak to you in a very special way. Because whimsy isn't cutesy little photos and bedazzling things for the trend and talking a lot about "girlhood."  It's about enjoying the process, letting yourself be surprised by the things bringing you joy. And I just don't think you can declare an "aperol spritz and appetizers" (or whatever the fuck the theme was) night will be whimsical. Or a crankies and potluck party, for that matter. (Sorry to Emma's friends/acquaintances for the strays.) (And actually that reminds me that for some reason, I truly believe the people of West Virginia to be whimsical and the people of Vermont (never met them btw) to be imposters of true whimsy. And that almost definitely says more about me and my biases than them, but since we were on the subject....) 

Anyway, I'm wondering where you are at with joy, whimsy, contentment? Does your job satisfy you? If not, what does, lately? Leave me a comment, send me text or a call, or write me a letter. Personally, I'm following the lead of another blogger in the sphere and am trying to send more snail mail.