Shortcuts to joy:

In memory of Aunt Kris

I lost an aunt this week, and I keep seeing her in the signs of spring. The little pink flowers everywhere. My aunt had an early April birthday and an early April spirit. When she came into the room, you felt it. She loved teaching kids and meeting for coffee and cakes and pies and breakfast in bed. When I remember her now, I think of her smiling and vibrant. I think she knew her shortcuts to joy.

What are your shortcuts? I’ve been thinking about an easier path to a deep exhale, or a simpler route to calm. I could spend forty minutes on a treadmill or dance thirty seconds to a favorite song. I could think through solutions for hours or take a few minutes with my journal, writing to myself like a mother would. I could tell you the whole story or stop myself right there and hold your hand.

The other day, I made a list, then took that list and made it simpler:

Put on music.

Go outside.

Write it down.

Get into water.

Get warm.

Nothing here requires travel or reservations or a fancy outfit. It’s simple set of instructions, doable most of the time.

Right now, though, at the start of my favorite season and with my aunt close in heart, I’ve discovered something even quicker:

Find a flowering tree.

The trees did not flower like this when I was a kid; I swear it up and down, and here’s proof: I was a girl who loved pink and purple and pastel. If there had been trees with branches painted in petals, I’d have gone crazy for them. I’d have skipped down the petal-dotted dirt like a bride.

Have you looked at dandelions through the eyes of a kid? Do you know how many flashes of yellow there are on the ground right now? My daughter Noa doesn’t understand what a weed is—why anything would be less deserving of the right to strive and thrive—and she’s been delighted to learn she can pick as many dandelions as she wants. Then we found one that had gone to seed, and David showed her how to blow the parachuting seeds while making a wish. You’d have thought she discovered candy growing on the lawn.

Dandelions and wishes I remember from my childhood, but not the flowering trees. Those I like to think my aunt painted a little brighter this year. Pinker, and more joyous.