Joy

I'm reading Brené Brown's new book, 'Braving the Wilderness' at the moment.  It's one of those books that incites feelings of confusion, contrition, choleric outrage, and at times a compulsion to consign the whole thing to the freezer until I recover my equilibrium.  Do read it.  I've just read the following and it's a reiteration of statements she's made in many of her previous publications:  "Joy is probably the most vulnerable emotion we experience."

I suddenly remembered this poem I wrote nearly two years ago.  It was in response to the challenge laid down by a poetry group I was a part of briefly, to write something about joy.  In applying myself to the task, the realisation dawned on me that it was a long time since I'd felt any.  Reading Brené's words again I am beginning to see why.  

Here is the poem:

Joy

Plink.

Every odd

Moment,

A drip

Drops

Down

Into the deep.

Plink, plink.

Once and again,

There it falls,

Echoing

Against

The stones

Slickened with moisture.

Plink, plink, plink

Dark moss drinks a draught

And drains each drop,

Each tiny drop

Of water

Right away

But still the damp persists.

Plink, plink, plink, plink.

Frequency increasing.

It’s flowing faster,

Firmly, fervently.

I keep hoping

That, keeping faith,

My cup will soon run over…

Mary Goodman 5/12/2015

Less traffic, more friendliness

I have observed something intriguing in recent months on my walk to the station on the way to work.  The walk usually takes around 15 minutes.  There are several ways I could go.  I suffer from perpetual lateness so I have pretty much always chosen the quickest route, which is up and down the hills of Lower Plenty Road.  This is a very busy road and at the time I’m going to work it’s usually teeming with cars and trucks.  There is a set of lights I have to cross at.  I press the button and then stand back a metre or so to avoid being run over by the cars and B-doubles which clip the kerb as they race round the corner. 

There are lovely views in this neighbourhood but I rarely take them in as I hurry to the bottom of the hill, watching the boom gates with anxiety. Any movement from them when I’m too far up the hill might mean I’ve missed my train. 

A few months ago I decided to start walking to the station another way.  The walk is longer by nearly five minutes, the first five of which are along an equally hectic and busy road, but then I turn off the road and walk through quiet, suburban streets with the roar and hiss of the traffic quickly fading away behind me. 

I walk past houses and I imagine what it would be like to live in them and what kind of people do live in them.  I ask myself why on earth anyone would a build a house that looks like a medical research facility, or why you’d build a house from scratch to look like a sloppy bungalow conversion.  I mentally award the houses prizes for being the most friendly, the most quirky, the most in need of love.  I notice when someone’s pruned their trees.  Pruning is a dark art to me: I don’t understand it.  There’s a house on a corner with a growing fleet of raised veggie beds covering what was once a manicured lawn.  I check the progress of the stuff growing in them as I pass, noticing the effect of a recent load of rain or an unusual warm spell.   

But it’s the people who are the really interesting factor, myself included.  On each route into work I probably pass or encounter between 5 and 10 people.  Only since walking the other way have I realised that on the Lower Plenty route, I find myself trying to isolate myself from the noise and intrusion of the traffic, and in doing so I tend to ignore any people I pass.  My anxiety is heightened because of the noise and fumes and I just want to get the chore of a walk over and done with as soon as possible.

On the other route, I look around, the atmosphere is calm, and when I meet people on the way, we exchange greetings and sometimes brief chats.  I am reminded that I live in a neighbourhood full of people of different backgrounds and interests.  It is a far richer, friendly experience.  Even the people in cars will wave or acknowledge each other and the pedestrians as they cross roads and driveways.

I would never have thought that such a seemingly trivial difference could have such a profound effect.