“The worst kind of person is someone who makes someone feel bad, dumb or stupid for … being excited about something. I don’t think you should ever have to apologize for your excitement. Just because something’s cliche doesn’t mean it’s not something that’s awesome.”
~Taylor Swift
Let’s talk about buzz kills, those discontented curmudgeons who love nothing more than to yuck your yum. Wet blankets are quick to tell you how overrated Taylor Swift is or ask if you know how much sugar is in that particular yogurt (I do, and I don’t care). I can’t stand a party pooper who can’t stop complaining about all the things you love.
Now, look. I don’t care for pumpkin spice lattes. Or Labubus. Or Romantasy trilogies. I don’t watch Love Island. Don’t own a Stanley. Don’t believe in weighted vests. Kill me before I am forced to go camping watch an entire NFL game. But I refuse to smirk at you or your joy. It is a harsh, cold world out there and small joys are often all we have. You do you, Boo. I’m happy to hear all about it, even if it isn’t my particular jam.
Sometimes people talk about “finding happiness” like it’s buried treasure, locked away in some chest under an X on the map. But the truth is, the big joys – the dream job, the perfect relationship, the world cruise where you finally learn how to say hello in six languages – those take time, money, and energy. Small joys, on the other hand, are everywhere, and they demand very little besides our attention. Small joys aren’t just silly indulgences, but fuel for the soul. They remind us that joy doesn’t always arrive wearing a tuxedo, but often shows up in stained sweatpants, carrying nachos. And that’s fine. Life is too unpredictable to save happiness for only the rare, sparkling occasions.
Here are my current obsessions, those tiny joys that make my days worth living:
- Ravensburger jigsaw puzzles. These nicely made puzzles boast “soft click technology,” which always makes me laugh. It just means you can put a bunch of pieces together and then lift the whole section up and move it without the pieces scattering.
- Being an Over-50 Swiftie. No one is ever too old to love what they love. I love Taylor Swift, and true love lasts a lifetime.
- The En Dash. It’s smaller amd shorter than the Em Dash, and my preferred form, even though I know I am not following grammar rules when I use it. It feels like a tiny pause for your brain when you’re reading. The smug online haters who call it the ChatGPT Hyphen can get wrecked.
- Downton Abbey. I am soooo late to the party here. But I’m staying until they shut the lights off. It’s a charming blend of historical accuracy and dramatic storytelling and I am ever invested in the lives of these characters.
- Adult Tap. I’m currently taking tap classes with a group of badass 35-55-ish women at Dancer’s Pointe. Are we good? Not yet. Do we look and sound awesome in our tap shoes? You betcha.
- Ruth Ware thrillers. Ware’s Agatha Christie-style writing usually involves ordinary women who find themselves in dangerous situations involving a crime. Her books are fun shots of dopamine. Start with The Woman in Cabin 10 before Netflix releases its version starring Kiera Knightly.
- A Minky Couture blanket that’s been dryer-warmed for just a few minutes. Firstly, these are the softest blankets known to man. They are so decadently expensive you have to wait months for the 50% sale (I was gifted one). And you should never dry them. But rule breaker that I am, I like to tumble it for 5-10 and then wrap myself up like a cinnamon roll. It’s the absolute epitome of cozy.
- Fat Bear Week on @nationalparkservice. Fat Bear Week is an annual competition that celebrates Alaska’s Katmai National Park’s amazing brown bears. Participants can vote online in a bracket-style tournamnet to choose the bear that best exemplifies fatness, crucial for winter hibernation. I’ve got Chonky 901 to win it all.
- Infamous: NXIVM’s Inner Circle Podcast. I find the psychology of cults endlessly fascinating. Jim Jones. The Branch Davidians. Charles Manson. The story of Keith Raniere’s NXIVM’s sex-cult (with human branding!) is binge-worthy gold.
These tiny pleasures aren’t profound or life-altering, but instead little stumbles of delight that keep me from tripping face-first into despair. Without them, life can start to feel like one long obligation. With them, life becomes a scavenger hunt for joy, where the prize might be as small as finding an extra fry at the bottom of the bag.
And if anyone dares to judge your guilty pleasures, ignore them. Joy is not a crime. Being a smug wisenheimer is.
What’s your current small joy?
