For the past few months, I’ve been diving head first into perimenopause…
…and a funny side effect — other than waking up drenched (the other morning, Anton said, “Mom, I love you; I don’t love your bed sweat”) — is that I keep thinking about what specifically makes life feel meaningful.
Maybe it’s because I’m closing the door on my childbearing years, or because I’m entering a new life chapter, or because death doesn’t seem quite so abstract as it used to — but for whatever reason, I feel a pressing, almost physical desire to lean into things that matter, that bring delight, that lift up my loved ones. Decades from now, what will I look back on and be so glad and grateful I did more of?
Last night, I called my mom to tell her about this surprisingly urgent feeling. “I took an exercise class the other day,” she told me, as she stirred pasta noodles. “The woman said, ‘Don’t think about your life span; you’ll die when you die. Instead, think about your health span and your joy span.” My mom paused. “‘Joy span.’ I loved that.”
Maybe that’s what my body is telling me: remember your joy span. Whereas my 20s and 30s felt all about hustling and building, my 40s, and soon 50s, now feel like more of a time to pause and soak everything up. To notice the moments where you feel warm and content or giddy and excited or calm and blissful, and do more of those.
What’s on your list? Simple pleasures I’ve written about in the past:
Sunny autumn days
Bagels with scallion cream cheese
Watching movies with both my children cuddling against me
Reading in bed
Funny teenager texts
Jacket potatoes
Opening up roses
The grassy waves at Storm King
The word “peripatetic”
When you read something so beautiful, you put your hand on your heart
Magic tricks that are impossible to figure out
A deep night of sleep
Kettle chips
Plus, every single thing about my children, of course
My friend’s dog
This hilariously French dinner scene from Love Is Blind: France
Chatting with beloved friends
When Freddie ends up wearing two pairs of glasses
Also, I remember calling my dad every evening during quarantine. He lived alone, and one day he told me, “The only person I’ve spoken to in real life this month is the fish guy at the grocery store.” The pandemic was tough! So, we got into a routine of talking every night, either for a few minutes or an hour. Since there wasn’t much to report — neither of us was doing much — we would ask random questions, like “What’s the most beautiful car, in your opinion?” and “Tell me about a sailing trip you really enjoyed?” (me to him) or “How do you try to teach the boys a love of learning?” and “Who do you picture writing to when you work on Cup of Jo?” (him to me). We went down rabbit holes about all things big and small. I treasured those conversations, and he once texted me, “Thank you for the calls, they’ve come to feel as steady as the wolf howling at the moon.”
So, I think I’ll call my dad tonight; read in bed with the boys; and put some salt-and-vinegar chips in a bowl. My heart already feels full.
What about you? What increases your joy span? What are your simple pleasures? Have you felt this kind of strong desire before?
P.S. How do you think about death, and what do you think happens when you die?
