The Art of Noticing

I’ve been thinking a lot about joy lately.

Not the big, obvious kind of joy.

I mean the tiny kind.

The kind you almost miss.

Since my husband's accident, joy has felt complicated. There are days when I feel strong, and other days I’m just trying to get through the day.

We Can Do Hard Things Light at Studio Mooi

I always tell the kids in the afterschool programs at Studio Mooi, “We can do hard things.”

I’ve said it so many times. Even bought the light with that quote which is in the window at the studio. And I believe it with all my heart.

But I never imagined we would be asked to do something this hard.

There are days when I wonder how do I look for happiness when I'm exhausted.

That's why I bought The Art of Noticing by Rob Walker.

I've been reading about intentionally paying attention to the little things around us—the things we usually overlook because we're busy, distracted or simply moving too quickly.

And now sometimes when I look outside I think:

Even when I'm sad, it's a sunny day.

The sun may still be shining.

The flowers are still growing.

People are still laughing.

There are little moments of joy happening all around me.

The world hasn't stopped being beautiful just because I'm having a challenging day.

I just have to remember to look.

So I started taking photos....

Not because they were Instagram-worthy. Not because they were important.

But because in that moment they brought me a tiny bit of joy.

I have included a few below. They are by no means artistic, but they are reminders for me that the sun still shines...

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• I took a picture of the roses coming up in the garden, even though I wasn't sure I'd have the energy to care for them this year.

• I took a picture of Marko walking with Clementine. Something so ordinary, but something that felt incredibly extraordinary to me.

• Creating some Kokedama and watching them dance in the wind.

• A coffee mug reminder from Louis Armstrong that made me smile.

• A picture of my thumb healing—a tiny reminder that bodies can repair themselves.

• The abundance of hydrangeas in my garden, ready to be dried for our fall wreath-making workshops.

• Funny bumper stickers on a car that made me laugh when I needed it.

• A red cardinal visiting on a cloudy day.

• A Rainbow Dash T-shirt I found at a thrift store reminding me to continue to dream.

• Marko remembering his homemade banana bread recipe. HUGE win here!

• Henri and Clementine making dinner together.

• Homemade butter on sourdough bread.

None of these things have changed what has happened.

None of them made the hard parts disappear.

But for a moment, they made me stop.

And maybe that's what I need right now.

To stop.

To look.

To notice.

I'm realizing that I don't need to find some enormous, life-changing sense of joy right now.

Maybe I just need to notice it.

Maybe joy can be really small.

There are days when I'm still sad and still exhausted.

And some days the mountain feels impossibly steep.

But I'm learning that I can carry sadness and joy at the same time.

I don't have to choose one.

So for now, I'm going to keep taking pictures of the little things.

The things that make me pause and smile.

Those little moments that remind me that even in the middle of something incredibly hard, there is still joy.

There is still moments of love.

There is still moments of life.

And maybe, one little moment at a time, that's how we climb the mountain.