When I decided to start writing Noticings, I asked myself whether I actually had a practice of paying attention or whether I just liked the idea of one. And then I remembered the Delight List (and quietly patted myself on the back).
Since college, I’ve kept what I’ve loosely called a Delight List. It’s exactly what it sounds like: things I come across that spark irrational, sometimes unexplainable joy. There have been many versions — originally it lived in a small moleskine in my purse, but it has migrated through Google Docs, Notes, and whatever app I was briefly committed to at the time.
I never really interrogated it until now. I just knew it made me feel happier and more attuned to simple pleasures.
This week I came across the work of Deb Dana, a clinical social worker and expert on nervous system regulation. Dana coined the term “Glimmer” to describe micro-moments that spark a sense of joy and safety. She argues that training yourself to tune into Glimmers helps downregulate your nervous system into a state of calm and relaxation. She actually developed a journal practice to help people use Glimmer-noticing as a means of managing trauma and anxiety.
The Delight List is, apparently, a clinically recommended strategy for well-being. I’ll take it.
Here’s a sampling of mine:
Standing barefoot on those rubber dirt-catching mats that have little sticky outy nodules
Cookie Monster’s voice and imagining the human behind it
The smell of Linden trees when they bloom for 2 weeks in June
Sauces that contain cooked down wine
The first morning after arriving on a vacation—the sense of relief of having arrived and possibility of what’s to come
Spotting the ocean when you live inland
Smell of tomatoes—especially their leaves when they’re hot from the sun
Dogs having happy dreams
The chaotic silliness that takes over during hour 2 of a long road trip
Eating feijoas
Snow: when it’s snowing and you can see it under stoplights; when the sun glistens off of snowflakes; when snow-covered pine trees look like pillowy cartoons
Finishing household products—especially when you have another one ready to go
Any before/after reveal
The feeling of sun on your skin when you’re cold
When the kitchen sink is clean and empty
Hearing someone yell “GO BILLS” when I’m wearing Buffalo Bills paraphernalia
The smell of coffee brewing when you haven’t had it yet
The sound of sprinklers turning on
Seeing someone trip and laugh at themselves
Composting
Realizing you have a day without meetings
The feeling of being obsessed with a book, especially a series, and sort of wrestling with wanting to dive into an alternate universe, while simultaneously appreciating your own real life
The joyful exhaustion after a ski day
Cold nights in the summer when you have to wrap up
Sweaty humid nights in the summer when you don’t need a jacket but then you get the relief of indoor air conditioning
Dogs bounding over snow that’s up to their bellies
Movies from the year 1993
Sitting on covered decks watching thunderstorms, especially when it rains harder and harder
Getting into a bed with clean sheets
Getting into a hot car after you’ve been in an overly airconditioned place
Making eye contact with a stranger when you both notice something funny/weird and have a little worldless shared moment over it
Waking up in a tent
These aren’t profound or even unique to me. But even looking them over for this piece sparks immediate delight.
And as I reflected on how this practice started, I made a new connection. My dad never left home without a handful of blank index cards in his pocket. On them he would jot down anything that struck his fancy — ideas, often quotes. We have literally hundreds of these cards, all categorized and filed in his idiosyncratic system. Hundreds of pages of my dad’s Delight.
