Ordinary Joy
The other day I had the privilege to sit in the sandy backyard of a small cottage in Sanibel overlooking the ocean. This brought me great joy. I had the even greater joy of being there with my daughter Savannah for a week. Waking up early each day, I established a ritual of making myself a cup of coffee in the black plastic coffeemaker supplied by the cottage. I took my cup out to the lime green Adirondack chair outside, positioned to gaze through the palm trees to the view and the sound of the ocean waves. There I meditated to the rhythm of the gently crashing waves. Sublime – all of it!
But I digress. What I really want to talk about is coffee – and ordinary joy.
I love a good cup of coffee, and I will demurely pass up any offering that isn’t ‘good’, in my humble opinion. Some might call that fussy. I call that fussy.
At home, I have a similar coffee-making ritual. I am the first up and sleepily navigate the stairs down to the kitchen, where I have a very satisfying coffee station waiting to greet me. I warm the cups, pour the coffee, froth the milk, and carry two cups back upstairs for my sweetie and me to enjoy together in these opening moments of the day.
I do this every day, and I do it happily. I realize that this little morning coffee-making ritual, conducted wherever I am, brings me joy.
So commonplace. So ordinary. And yet a quiet source of joy. Not a burden, not a tiresome chore, not a task that somehow fell to me and got stuck there, but a glow of warmth in my still-quiet heart.
But, you say, what about when things don’t go so well with things we enjoy?
I remember a story renowned teacher Joseph Goldstein tells of a self-retreat he held in his home. He, too, it turns out, has a keen enjoyment of the early-morning coffee-making ritual. One morning, he came down to prepare his coffee and discovered that his bean grinder was broken. He laughingly admits the very first thought that overtook him was: “This is a disaster!!” Of course, being Joseph, he quickly recentered himself, understanding that all things are impermanent.
What brings joy one moment can bring a sense of loss the next – if we are too tightly attached to our expectation that it will always be there for us.
Another famous story comes from Thai monk Ajahn Chah. While meeting with a group of students, he held up his teacup. It was a beautiful Chinese cup that someone had given him. He said to them, “This cup holds its water admirably. I drink from it and enjoy it, yet for me, this cup is already broken. When my elbow accidentally knocks it to the ground, and it shatters, I will say, ‘of course’. Because I understand that this cup is already broken, every minute with it is precious.”
What I take from these stories about coffee, ritual, teacups, and joy is twofold:
· May we notice and take deep joy in the delights of life, both the sublime and the ordinary.
· May we hold these things lightly, knowing that it is the nature of all things to change.
For me, the phrase ‘It is already broken’ isn’t sad. When I remember, it serves as a soft reminder of the preciousness of every moment, which deepens joy while gently loosening attachment.
How do you hold the ordinary and sublime moments of joy in your life?
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