Delight in the little things
A squirrel, some chaos, the circle of life, and romanticization
The squirrel surprises us all when it falls to the ground just steps away from my niece. We’ve spent the last few minutes looking up into the branches of a large maple, hoping for a glimpse of the creature.
While Olive shouts —“Hey, squirrel! Come here!”—I ask Sean if he thinks it’s okay. I don’t expect him to know more about wildlife injuries than I do (which is nothing, really) but it’s habit to share all my questions with him.
“They’ve got to be used to it, right?” he replies. “I mean, that has to happen all the time.”
“And it climbed back up, which must be a good sign. But what if there’s internal damage? That was such a loud thud.”
We don’t have much more time to contemplate the squirrel’s fate. Olive is already sprinting toward the next thing, and we run after her, no longer Haley and Sean but Auntie and Unc.
I throw myself into the day—and it is a wonderful day—but later I can’t help but think: I kind of relate to the squirrel.
In the past month: We danced all night at a wedding with our college-days crew. My childhood best friend turned 28, officially welcoming us (as the pair we’ve always been) to a full decade of adulthood. Two people I care about lost their dogs unexpectedly. My sister gave birth to my second niece, which did not go as planned. Scout injured her leg and got even grayer.
Mostly these things don’t seem related. But to me, they are. My mother-in-law recently shared that years ago, when she found out she was pregnant the same day another relative died, she felt like she was watching the cycle of life in real time.
Sometimes you wake up at a highway rest area, and it is loud, and you are exhausted from some busy (and challenging) weeks, and even though you went to bed at eight pm last night you’re still having a hard time greeting the day…
Until you remember you’re home.
Even here, in this parking lot, you are home. Home with your dog and your partner and your yellow kettle. Home with your cozy clothes and your multicolored pens and your journal. Home with plans to drive west toward something new, a feeling which is both clichéd and honest, a promise of energy and creativity once you rest.
I am still reminding myself that delighting in the little things is never a wrong move, even—and especially—in the world’s chaos. Delight alone is not enough, but it is something.
A necessary something.
Notes and news
Writing
The Amazine just published a lil’ flash piece of mine. It’s about living in a van and being adventurous (and also emptying a jug of my own urine in a porta potty).
I’ve been craving more writing community and am excited to join Wallstrait as a creative nonfiction reader. I’m hoping to see some stellar (and strange) work while learning a lot from LW, Danny, and the rest of the crew. Wallstrait is especially cool because they prioritize response times and editorial feedback, which is not exactly common in the lit mag world.
I’m also volunteering as a reader for Months to Years. My favorite thing about this journal is their commitment to open conversations about heavy topics. I write a lot about emotions and grief and loss myself (particularly lately) so I’m looking forward to reading other writers’ experiences.
Personal
This should-be-innocuous section feels kind of overwhelming right now. We’ve had a lot going on—and I’m still figuring out what and how and where feels right to share, especially when stories aren’t just my own.
That said: Sean and I have a new niece! (I got to meet her the very day she was born. 😭) We spent over a month in our home state with loved ones! Scout is still the most perfect, adaptable travel dog!
And for the first time since spring, we are fully hitting the road. No tight timelines or pre-planned visits—just van-life flexibility for a while.
In case you missed it
Earlier this month I revised and re-shared some of my core beliefs about life with dogs.
I always enjoy your writings. Thank you for sharing!