Life, Work & Wonder

Tag: Joy

  • How much I love sunny Seattle July mornings.

    How much I love sunny Seattle July mornings.

    They are magical in that they transport me back to my youth before I graduated college, not so much in the memories but in the feelings which then also elicit some memories.

    I remember waking up as a kid, pulling on shorts and a t-shirt, eating a bowl of cereal, and then feeling like the rest of the day was mine. When I was younger I ventured out into the neighborhood (which we could do in the 70s), and when I was a little older we’d play baseball or basketball. Sometime around 4pm, my parents or grandparents would take the cover off the pool and then we’d all swim.

    In college, July was a break from classes. I’d usually work a meaningless hourly job that ended when my shift ended. And then two things would happen: either I’d love that job and would have a terrific summer, or I wouldn’t like the job and that would make me look forward to returning to classes again.

    But those are the memories. And it’s not the memories that make July mornings awesome. It’s the feelings.

    July in Seattle is sunny. And not usually too hot. So much of the year in Seattle is gloomy. Which creates heaviness and foreboding in my spirit. But in July? In the morning? I’m rested from a day of sleep. And the sky is clear. And the sun is fresh, and still behind the trees.  And my spirit just feels sooooo free. And suddenly I feel like anything good is possible. Anything I want to accomplish is possible.

    For me, July is hope. It’s a happiness drug. And I love it so much. Like a drug.

    Sometime soon the summer will start to come to a close. But for now we’re in the heart of it. It’s a sunny mild morning in July. And the world just feels so amazing.

    I’m so happy right now.

  • My Evolving Hobbies

    Daily writing prompt
    Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?
    View all responses

    PROMPT: Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?

    When I was young I loved bowling.

    Starting in 5th grade my friend Bill and I would walk every Saturday morning the mile or so to the Sunset Bowl lanes in Ballard, and we’d bowl a few games. I remember bringing home the scorecard each week and just staring at each frame of the scores, thinking about them, breaking them down, looking forward to our next week of games. I couldn’t sleep the night before a game, I was so exited. So it went for the next few years. I loved to bowl, and any time I was going to bowl (including the year in 7th grade when my friend Darryl and I joined a bowling league), I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited.

    I don’t remember how old I was when suddenly I lost interest in bowling. Was I 13? 14? It seems like one month I was eagerly bowling every week, and then suddenly I could care less about bowling. To this day, more than 50 years later, bowling is something I’ll do if friends want to, but I could care less about any of it and I’m always glad when it’s over and we do something else.

    So too it was with golf. In high school, I loved golf. Couldn’t wait to golf. Couldn’t sleep the night before a round of golf. Two or three times a week I went to the course, and when there was no one to golf with me I went by myself and would join random groups. Just like with bowling, I loved the numbers: when I’d get home each day after a round of golf I would break down my game, and at some point I had every score card filed away in my room. Was I good golfer? Not really. But I loved it.

    Then one day when I was a sophomore in college I was on the course with my friends Matt, and we were approaching the 7th green, and suddenly I felt sooooooo bored. And just like that I was done with golf. Yes, I golfed some times after that, and sometimes even had fun on the course with my family and friends, but I could care less about the actual game.

    And so it went. With bowling. Golf. Baseball. Basketball. Classic movies. Partying. Even dating. One moment I was totally into it, even passionate about it, and the next I could care less about it.

    In my 40s and into my 50s, I loved to talk to strangers. On an airplane I’d love to hear someone’s life’s story. In a bar, the random person next to me became my instant connection. I loved hearing people’s stories so much that I started reading every random memoir I could find, and even volunteered on the Crisis Line because it was another way to hear people’s stories. Now? Barely at all. I sit quietly on an airplane, don’t engage people on the street, and had to give up the Crisis Line because I was struggling with keeping interested in it.

    My life has been one of fleeting interests. Fleeting hobbies. Really into something I enjoy one day, and then totally oblivious to it the next.

    There are hobbies in life where I’ve retained an interest my whole life. I love to read. I love to write. I love analyzing data. I love to exercise. And I love mountain creeks.

    But there are more — sooooo many more — activities that are ultimately a passing fancy.

    It can be something I fret about. And I could strive to recapture the joy I felt in those fleeting interests. But, then again, why?

    I feel like the important thing is that I have things I enjoy now. At this moment. The what is less important than the whether. And ultimately I can remember and appreciate the joy I felt when I was going to do those things that I once loved.

  • Rediscovering Raymond Chandler

    In my 20s I loved Raymond Chandler.

    I was teaching high school film study, and in my preparation to teach Film Noir I perused Raymond Chandler’s “Farewell, My Sweet.”

    How much I fell in love with the writing and the character.

    There was a dry wit/humor to the writing, and a cadence that only belongs to Raymond Chandler. I enjoyed that it took place in LA during the 40s and 50s, and that he was a tough decent character in a sea of seedy characters.

    I read one book after another. And I read Chandler’s biography. And then I moved on with life.

    I left teaching. Raised my kids. Found other things to read.

    Last week I was reading the Longmire series. And there is something about that character that reminds me of Philip Marlowe, and something about that writing that reminds me of Raymond Chandler. And I found myself re-reading The Long Goodbye.

    How much I love it.

    Anyway, happiness is rediscovering a past joy we’d put aside. And I’m looking forward to re-reading all of Chandler’s novels over the next few years.