"the sharpest little happinesses"

Those who know me well know that I often speak in abstractions when I'm trying to figure something out. My verbal phrasings are often very awkward. They condense and (I hope, anyway) make a little more sense once I write them down.

Anyway, the other day I was trying to describe a little bit of how I see the world to a friend. I realized that I imagine happiness as a fancy, layered cake of sorts. The whole is important for presentation, but when you slice it and serve it, there are all these amazing smaller components to pick at and savor. I think anyone will rarely HAVE the whole thing, but a piece is lovely. And no two are ever the same, either.

Enough of the food metaphor-ing. I bring this up because I said, in that moment: "I look for the sharpest little happinesses." Yeah, I know, that sounds like an eighth grader composing her first autobiographical essay. And maybe this is all a little bit of eighth grader in me (which is fine...honestly, I was a raging dorkface at that point in my life, but I was sweet and sentimental to no end). What do I mean by this phrase? I mean those moments that I look for in the everyday that keep me going. Surely we all have these little rushes once in awhile. When something that others might not even find very interesting sends a little spark up your spine? Or when the ritual of something comforting finds you in a silent, peaceful sliver of a moment?

My sister Joan also inspired this post. Mother to my lovely new niece, she's been homebound lately, trying to maintain her sanity while managing a household that now includes: a baby who eats every three hours and refuses to sleep for more than one hour, a facetious cat who thinks she's been handed down the job of caring for said baby, and an academic doll of a husband who entertains his daughter by playing recorded TV shows in Arabic. She handles life with grace, my sister. Her facebook update the other day made so much sense. She summed up her life in a few sentences: "I became a social worker. I married an academic. I have a beautiful little girl. Life is good despite the fact that the world is pretty messed up right now."

These are mine, my sharpest little happinesses, at least for now:

--Book reviews.

I've finally come to terms with the fact that it will take me many, many years to read all the things I'd like to. Actually, I know I couldn't possibly live long enough to get anywhere near the end of that stack. Call it bibliophilic fatalism. So I've decided to also devote as much time as I can to knowing many books. I stop by the The New York Times http://www.nytimes.com/pages/books/ , Slate http://www.slate.com/id/2065896/view/2116427/ , and The Wall Street Journal http://online.wsj.com/public/page/news-books-best-sellers.html almost every morning. A good book review digs much deeper than summary, and the best make historiographical and cultural connections to relevant and timely matters of the world. A great one leads you down other paths as well. Yesterday, I started reading about ecosystem ecology and ten minutes later had some jazz on. (My roommate wasn't happy about that; I have a bad right ear, so I play music loudly like a really old person.) It was the middle of last year, post-comprehensive exams, that I finally re-introduced myself to the goal of diverse reading. I spent three years buried (and...like, literally, buried, falling asleep on top of and under) in historical monographs--which are solidly researched but oft-lacking in both compelling prose and versatility. But my undergrad advisor Dave Anderson once told me that the answers you're looking for to solve a problem aren't going to be in the literature that's already been written in your field. They're going to be in some hidden corner in a place you don't feel as comfortable, or perhaps on a cereal box. Blogs are amazing venues for book recommendations as well. I've found gems just skimming through friends' entries. This is where the real happiness part comes in. Sharing books is, at least to me, like sharing a meal with people you like. The common experience bonds two people (or four, or twenty) for a few moments or for forever (if the excellence of the material is properly agreed upon).

--My cafe regulars.

I run espresso shots and serve pastries part-time at an adorable bakery here in Athens called Ike & Jane. I took the job to bank some money on the side, of course, and I really didn't expect to get much out of it. Imagine my surprise when the exact opposite happened. I get a hell of a lot out of it. Not only do I work with this glorious little cross-section of Athenians, people I would never have met sequestered in the history department hallways, but I've also learned how insanely, prick-of-a-pin close happiness and suffering really are. The bakery is right next to Athens' main hospital. A good chunk of our business is from their staff as well as the patients and family members who visit them. I've had meaningful conversations with people who are staring illness in the face--conversations about our health care crisis, the wonders and pitfalls of medicine, and, yes, the little happinesses that creep into the day-to-day despite how awful the bigger picture might be. I've never really been interested in the medical profession before this, and while I think my abilities in it will remain in the realm of volunteering and listening, well...there's something. It's added a new dimension to my life that I'm thankful for. I spent A LOT of time in hospitals growing up, dealing with my mother's illness, and I know there's a wisdom in the eyes of folks who've had to confront death and dying, or even just the fear of these things.

There are also regulars at the cafe who broaden my views everyday in other ways. Like Eddie, the cab driver-cum-medical transporter who stops by several times a day just to say hi and see how we're doing. Or the man who orders an apple juice and sits in the corner smiling for hours at a time, just watching (and no, it's not creepy, he's lovely). Mothers who come in and gush about the hopes they have for their kids. Musicians who show up at 6am because they haven't gone to bed yet and caffeine is the only thing that could possibly keep them going. It's a mess, but I'm glad I'm a part of this little slice of Athens. Even if just for a bit.

--Gestures.

If you know me, you know I talk about synchronicity all the time. I believe firmly that there's meaning in how we interact with others as well as with places and times in our life. There are moments that seem to be accidental, and I guess if you talk to a statistician, they are. But when those accidents inspire you, connect you to something or someone...priceless. And lately, to add a layer on top of all that, I've been trying to make small gestures everyday towards others--to show that I care, that I'm thinking, that I'm present. I want the people that matter to me to know that they do. Small surprises make me happy, and I think they make most people happy.

--My niece, Eleanor

I get to see her again very soon. She's pictured above in all her sleepy infant glory. The first time I met her, she was two days old and angry at a nurse for changing her diaper. She waved her tiny fists in the air like the queen of some chesnut-haired empire. And she stole my heart, right in that moment. Having her around makes me want to be a better person. Joan sends me picture-messages in the morning of Eleanor waking up. "Good morning, Aunt Lesley," they say, "I love you." God, I love you too, baby, baby girl!

And on a lighter note:

--My dad's voice. If I'm having a stressful day, receiving his phone call is like a tiny haven. There are many things we simply do not agree on (politics, movies, footwear, you name it), but we still talk very easily. To him I am always, always his little girl. And that's shelter.

--Fresh notebook paper. I still write most everything down before I type it up.

--Re-runs of the The Office. Must I elaborate.

--Late nights in my house. Two grad students grade papers, stack books in rows, and try to make sense of life...and eat a lot of ice cream along the way.

--Cooking. But I don't use recipes.

--The Regina Spektor song, "Us." This song is everything I think love is. Please go listen to it right now if you've never heard it. It makes me want to go places, do things, and dream more.

--Looking forward. There are some exciting plans in the works, but more on that later. Can't go jinxing anything, you know.