That’s what I’m calling it, anyway; maybe something else should go between the quotation marks, but it seems like the right choice, as a descriptor for something I have been taking the time to notice lately.
Let me explain.
Have you ever been engaged in some pleasant or satisfying activity, or maybe passively enjoying an experience, when, suddenly, you become suddenly aware of it? And there’s a thrill that goes through you at the awareness of it? Here am I, doing something cool, feeling something delicious. It’s sort of the opposite of a flow state, in that it suddenly takes you out of the activity or the sensation: you become an observer of your own thoughts and feelings But in a good way, a delightful way.
The best explanation I can come up with: it’s sort of like being outside on your way somewhere, and suddenly catching your own reflection, unexpectedly, in a shop window at an odd angle, and being delighted by this vision of yourself in the midst of the world, a little glimpse from outside yourself.
Some might call it a feeling of joy—I should go back and re-read Surprised by Joy and see exactly what words Lewis used to describe his “joy” sensation, to see if it’s similar. Some might call it being aware of being happy. For myself, gratitude is usually a part of it: thankfulness for the gift of the moment, or the company, or the opportunity.
I hope this is a common experience, because it’s pleasant, and mine are often (not always) based not in rare opportunities but in simple activities that would be in theory accessible to lots of people. It seems to me that it should be. I hope it is.
And it hasn’t been a daily experience for me, but it isn’t infrequent either. Since I deliberately started trying to notice it, I think I’ve noticed it more. Which is good, I think!
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I started making a list of the kind of things that set it off. Note: it’s not the same thing as a list of “things I like to do” or even “my favorite things to do.” I like a lot of things. But it’s only sometimes that I get this extra little, oh, I don’t know, record-scratch freeze-frame kind of self-awareness; if there was flow, it pitches me right out of the flow and into conscious awareness.
Here’s a list of recent times when the record scratched:
- sitting at my own kitchen table with my husband, finishing any kind of dinner together and drinking a whole bottle of wine, laughing together and talking
- almost any point when I am traveling, especially solo: airports after passing security but before I have to be at the gate, the NYC subway, walking briskly from one place to another
- carrying a pile of books home from the library in our neighborhood, or a basket of groceries home from the store that I can walk to
- when I walk into the kitchen to make dinner and me-from-a-few-hours-ago has cleaned it all up and left the countertops clear and the dishes running
- sitting in my chair and drinking the second cup of coffee of the day
- getting into bed when the bedding is freshly laundered, ideally with one of the aforementioned books
- going out for a nice dinner with our adult kids
- sitting down to eat a really lovely breakfast or lunch that I’ve made for myself just exactly the way I like it, something nourishing and balanced, and just the right size
- going for an easy-to-medium run in cool, beautiful weather: autumn or spring any time of day, summer in the early morning
- taking work to the coffee shop, listening vaguely to the hubbub of people around me
- I got it just yesterday, during co-schooling at our house; I was having tea and working at the computer writing a test for my high schooler, half listening to H. leading the three 11-year-olds in a literature discussion. Whoosh, there it was.
Again: This isn’t just a list of things I like to do or that make me feel happy or grateful. It’s a list of the things that have given me that specific, sudden feeling of self-awareness. There are many enjoyable things that almost never do. For example, going to the theater doesn’t ever do it. I’m too busy watching the play. Some of my favorite foods make me momentarily happy but don’t do this to me. I like swimming more than running, objectively speaking; I love a good swimming workout; yet I get this sensation from running outside, as long as I’m not working too hard, and I never get it from swimming. What gives? What’s the difference?
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I think it is something cognitive that comes along with the sudden sensation of awareness of enjoyment. There’s some kind of interpretation happening in my head as well, that reverberates with the feeling to create a sort of mental-emotional feedback. And if I work to put words to it, this is the best I can do:
This experience is evidence that I am living The Good Life.
Isn’t that a funny interpretation? But examining it, I think that’s what it means. Something about these moments symbolize to me that I have landed, for now, in a place that is beautiful to be. Like, seriously unexpectedly beautiful.
Not everything is beautiful. I have challenges in my life, I have dissatisfactions in my life, there are some worrying unknowns in the future; I know I am mortal and so are my loved ones; I know I am a flawed human being who must work hard to interrupt impulses of self-centeredness and to overcome the barriers that keep me from connecting deeply; I must grow in generosity and patience. I have frustrating days, sick days, lonely days, days when I feel very incompetent to handle the interactions I have to have with people.
But these particular moments that come to me sort of make a context in which I am surrounded by beauty and connection. Whatever the challenges are, this is The Good Life.
+ + +
I’m planning to write more about this. It strikes me that there are some opportunities here, but maybe also some dangers.
For one thing, it’s an addictive feeling, or thought. I can see as I look over my list that I sometimes do things because I am trying to chase it, even though I wasn’t really aware of it as a specific internal state until recently.
Also, “The Good Life” is a phrase that has some disconcerting associations. Do I mean material wealth and comfort? After all, many of these experiences have a component that is made more accessible because we are relatively-well-off. Do I mean feelings of invulnerability, like I’ve made it and nothing can touch me? I want to keep an accurate sense of the fragility of my houses of cards. Do I mean superiority, or that I have done something to deserve these good things? Is this only a good because other people lack it? Is it an improper attachment to the things that do not last, or is it a proper enjoyment and appreciation of them?
So I’m interested in exploring this sensation that I have. What it means exactly, and why The Good Life seems to be the right phrase to describe it, even though (this is the weird part) I’m also a little bit turned off, or maybe embarrassed by, the phrase.
And if there’s anything I can learn from it.
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