Today was the first day of school.  For my daughter, it was the first day of kindergarten — a real milestone. She’s been in daycare for years, but that was daycare.  This is school.  You know, where big kids go. Last week she spent some time walking around the house with her backpack on; testing it out, practicing.  So this morning she felt like a pro.  She walked into that building, sporting her pink Barbie backpack and brand new jeans, cool as a cucumber.  When she sat down at her very own desk with her name on it, she beamed.  A new chapter of her life opening. And true to the joyful spirit that she is, she met it with a smile.

As I stood there, snapping photos among a sea of other proud parents with cameras in hand, joy bubbled up and over Hough Elementary and spilled into the streets.

I went out on my lunch hour yesterday looking for joy.  I sat on the steps at Pioneer Square and waited and watched. It wasn’t long before my attention was drawn to this very active little boy who couldn’t seem to stand in one place for longer than 7 seconds.  Literally. He took great pleasure in chasing the pigeons in the square and watching them take flight.  He’d chase and chase, smiling wide, then seek other entertainment until those poor pigeons thought it safe enough to return to ground. I had such fun watching this young adventurer I caught myself willing the birds to come back–squinty-eyed even, because surely that forces my psychic plea into the brains of the winged beasts and encourages them to land that much sooner.

All silliness aside, spying joy in this child was the best thing I could have done with a lunch hour.  Joy spreads. Guarantee it.

It’s a well-known fact: chocolate chip cookies are one of the very best things in life.  And homemade chocolate chip cookies are a little chunk of heaven.  The cookies I make, when I make them, are oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.  They are divine.  Almost as good as the warm, chewy, melty goodness that they are just out of the oven is the fresh-mixed dough; which is so thick and heavy that it nearly burns out the motor on the mixer.  As I was making my extra special cookies from scratch tonight, my son pleaded with me to let him lick the spoons, the bowl, anything the dough came in contact with.  As he devoured every speck he could reach with his tongue I spied joy — chocolate covered joy — in the kitchen.

Having two young children I go to a lot of birthday parties.  And I see a lot of bubbles.  More often than not, I see a lot of bubbles while at the birthday parties.  Yesterday my kids and I were at a joint party for a 5- and a 3-year-old.  Not surprisingly, there were bubbles.  But these were not your ordinary bubbles.  They were huge — some of them a full foot in diameter; and several of the largest bubbles had bubbles within the bubble.  The children were irresistibly drawn to them and took great joy in popping these floating ellipses. It was their enjoyment that drew me over; however, it was the bubbles themselves that kept me there long after the children moved on to other adventures. There was something in the sudsy mix that was different. The skin of the bubble seemed heavier, and they were so tangibly iridescent, so blue and purple and shimmering.  The embodiment of spirit, light and dazzling.  I stood and watched bubble after bubble go up, up and away: joy rising.

I am so inspired by my 5-year-old daughter.  Her ability to find joy in common moments is just about unparalleled in my view.  Last night, after her bath, she went out in the backyard to find the sprinkler going.  Like many children, she doesn’t wait for an invitation to run through spraying water.  I was just about to holler at her for running in wet grass right after she had gotten so clean — yes, I know this doesn’t make any sense; but at the end of a long work day I am sometimes not at my best…  Fortunately, I paused long enough to see how much joy she found in this simple activity.  She squealed and giggled and ran and yelled and giggled some more.  For a good 15 minutes she was living so much in the moment, so pleased with a life where there is grass and water and one can be naked experiencing them both.

As Brian (my husband, her father) and I watched her, we were completely enchanted and couldn’t help but giggle ourselves.  I spied joy not once, but three times; and it made even the longest of days dissolve like sugar in water into a sweet and clear moment.