Hiding in plain sight by Sue Robin

While I often find myself listening to the same litany of worries and pretend conversations in my head, I rarely listen to my own advice. It is as though I know all the healthy things to do and unconsciously do none of them. This past week, after a couple of meltdowns, I realized that I had to choose to find some joy before I spiraled into oblivion.

I started consciously searching for the little smiles hiding in plain sight. Though my son in Minneapolis has filled numerous bags with fallen leaves and stowed the rake away for another year, we in Los Angeles are just getting our first peek at the leaves changing color. One must know which streets to meander down to see liquid amber bathed in gold or a red tree that looks aflame—but they are here if we only look.

On the way home from chores yesterday, we made a few detours and cried out in pleasure, “There on the left!”  Another two doors down. “One on the right!” We went about ten blocks out of our way to gaze upon the golden leaves that carpet the ground beneath two lovely trees clinging their riches like a miser.

Out for breakfast Monday morning,  my breath was taken away by a lovely older woman. Probably not older than me, but clearly from another era. I was dressed California casual as were most of the other diners, but she was decked out in a beautifully tailored forest green suit. A black peau de soie pillbox hat sat jauntily atop her head. After she finished eating, she pulled a lacy hanky from her purse to dab at her nose. I have a cache of those hankies passed on from my mom. Mine live in a drawer, but perhaps I should carry one as a reminder.

She stood and put on an equally elegant coat. As she passed our table, I proffered a compliment about how stunning she looked. She smiled graciously and said, “It’s the hat!” I held her smile in my heart for the rest of the week.

A nephew called to share some joyful news. The news is wonderful, but that he wanted to call to tell me is even more precious.

My grandson sent a photo of the pieces of his new desk chair all laid out for assembly. After years of building complicated Lego sets, I am sure it took but a moment for him to assemble. That photo allowed me to reminisce about the Legos and what an amazing young man he is now.

Finding joy in the seemingly little things—a tree, a stranger, a phone call, a photo—helped me move out of my head and put the emphasis back on life. May you find little things to smile at this week, too.