the work of joy
May 26, 2015 § 9 Comments
I think, too often, I anticipate joy will arrive in fleeting moments of superficial pleasure; something that acts upon me or interrupts the work of living. Some days I schedule excuses for joy, a cup of coffee with a friend or distracted escape into the pages of a new story. Yesterday pleasure came in measured efforts of work, tending to my home in tasks that I more often procrastinate.
Vacuuming the traces of a week’s busyness and pulling weeds that freckle my garden beds, washing my family’s clothes and sifting through cluttered paperwork were efforts that pushed against happier interruptions. It was only at day’s end that my muscles and mind relaxed into a content peacefulness that I recognized the work of joy; the purpose within pleasure that rewards effort.
Tomorrow I will undoubtably conjure new excuses to postpone those tasks I shuffle to the perimeter of my schedule, but for today I’m inspired to lean into the lingering places of neglect and dwell in a different sense of joy.
scribblechic 
Liked reading this
Thank you for reading! I’m always surprised and grateful for the kind company of strangers among my personal wonderings.
This is very cool. And a unique perspective on finding joy in mundane tasks. You made me think, and that is always a good thing!
I love when someone shifts the everyday just enough that I see a hint of something unexpected. I’ll take that as high praise. Thank you!
Not high praise. Just acknowledgement of an interesting piece! So I guess that is high praise! Deserved praise 🙂
One thing that works for me in my busy life is to sometimes just take a mental day and then do the tasks the next day. Thanks for sharing your awesome practices with us on wordpress. Love your reflections!
Thank you for reminding me that a mental day can be the most restorative act of self-care. I think I’ll explore that practice today!
Took a break from housework to read this. I’ll go back to it with renewed vigor. I love the image of weeds as freckles.
Freckles are endearing, right!? A natural blemish with charm… my husband isn’t convinced, yet.