Dearest friends,
The last several months have been one of those seasons in life that rearranges you. We all have them, and lately, mercifully, I am emerging from what has undoubtedly been a pivotal time for my family.
A few weeks ago, in that liminal space of the early morning, a quiet directive for my soul arrived:
It is time to prioritize your joy.
Our spirits become dispirited otherwise. Untethered from our essence. For a while we can survive this way, pushing through on determination and responsibility alone. But eventually something inside us begins to ache for the things that make us feel alive again.
One strange and beautiful thing I’m noticing about coming through a hard season is that I am not quite the same person on the other side. Something has shifted and rearranged within me. It’s not bad or good. It just feels like a new landscape on this side of things. A touch of unfamiliarity with a dash of gentle possibility, too.
I am stepping into what I can only describe as the adult adolescence of my life.
Remember when we were in our twenties and spent so much time asking the big questions? Who do I want to be? What kind of life do I want to build? What do I want to devote my energy and creativity to?
And now, here in my fifties, those questions are returning.
Who do I want to be now?
What do I want to create? Do I even want to create in the ways I’ve been creating?
What do I want to build from here?
What deserves my time and devotion moving forward?
It’s tricky, right? Our adult adolescence has us starting from experience. From heartbreak and joy and mistakes and wisdom. From a life already lived that is now asking to be shaped again.
It feels disorienting and open to possibility at the same time.
The only thing I can think to do to make sense of all of this is what I did in my late twenties and early thirties: prioritize my joy and simply follow the small breadcrumb trail of whatever brings me back to myself.
Not the big dramatic gestures, but the tiniest, simplest things.
The other day I was driving, singing every single word to Noah Kahan’s song Season of the Sticks. Loudly. Enthusiastically. And on repeat.
There I am, I thought.
Suddenly, I was transported back to the nineties, when we Gen X kids would sit on our beds listening to albums from beginning to end, reading every word in the CD liner notes while the music played. Memorizing lyrics. Studying the songs.
Since that moment in the car, I’ve been revisiting music from the nineties, refamiliarizing myself with the lyrics, reading articles about the musicians, wondering what that song might be about, and simply enjoying another person’s creativity that they put into the world.
It feels so simple. So analog. And just so perfect.
I also started a sketchbook project recently as part of my Prioritizing Joy Project. Every day I sit down with my sketchbook. Sometimes just for fifteen minutes. I bought an old book about sketching, and as I flip through it, I get energized to go sit and draw and paint for a bit. So simple, yet LIFE GIVING.
It reminds me of a journal I kept in my twenties called my Self Discovery Journal. I filled it with lists and thoughts and collaged images. It was a kind of daily vision boarding practice before I even knew that was a thing.
Now here I am in my fifties, sketching little birds and experimenting with watercolors for the first time. Being awkward and new and earnest about it all.
There I am.
I’m starting to let the survival-mode clothing go, too. Instead of mindlessly throwing on whatever, I’ve recently started choosing outfits again, wearing my joy. Colors. Layers. Personality. The simple delight of deciding whether I’m going to wear striped socks or the cute flowery socks feels like a small miracle right now.
There I am.
And can I just say, too, that there is something both strange and beautiful about being a full-grown adult and feeling a little like an adolescent again while also raising one.
My son True is deep in that season of exploration. He is playing cello. Taking ceramics and guitar lessons. Journaling. Sketching. Reading stacks of books. Experimenting with fashion. Obsessing over music. Dreaming about his future.
Watching him explore his creativity as a way of discovering who he might become is a powerful reminder that I can do the same.
And so I keep returning to that quiet directive that greeted me the other morning.
Prioritize your joy.
A song in the car.
A sketchbook on the table.
A pair of striped socks.
Little breadcrumbs leading us back to ourselves. And maybe that is what this season is asking of me.
Not to have everything figured out. Not to rebuild everything all at once. But simply to follow the trail. One small joy at a time.
