I am a bit of a planner. Those close to me know this. By nature, I am hopeful. But I’ve lived long enough to know that life isn’t always smooth—and neither are my responses to it.
So, I like to have a backup plan for the days when I am not at my best, when hope and joy need a little more effort.
I’m not sure who needs this today—but if you’re feeling the heaviness of the world, or the anger and helplessness of things beyond your control, I hope this helps.
When Joy is a Chore
Here are a few things to keep in your back pocket for the days when your light is dimmed, your tank is running on empty, and joy feels like a chore.
A piece of music that makes you peaceful. Not the kind that makes you want to dance—your feet may not have that in them—but the kind that gently fills your heart.
A smell that reminds you of someone you love: a favourite food from your childhood, or a flower that blooms in your mind. Not the kind that overwhelms your senses, but something softer—freshly cut grass, or the familiar scent of a baby.
A short poem or a quote that restores your faith in the beauty of the world. Something that reminds you that everyone is human, and that love still holds. Not the kind that asks you to change the world today, but the kind that lets you be enough for today—and invites you to look out the window, at a tree. If not words, then an image: the ocean, a mountain, something that brings you back to the beauty of the Earth.
An old photograph. One that reminds you that you are loved. A five-year-old you with your mother. A photo booth moment from the day you met your love. You holding your child when they were small. Not in a perfect light nor carefully composed—but one taken when no one was trying. Slightly faded, a little frayed at the edges, for having lived in your wallet for years.
A mantra or a prayer that reminds you that all beings are loved, and that we are part of something larger than ourselves. Not something tied to rules or moral codes—that can wait for another day. If prayer is not your language, read a passage that expands your perspective —maybe Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot, or look at an image of the cosmos and the neural networks within you. The outer and the inner, magically mirroring each other.
From the mundane to the sacred, have a small backup plan—a gentle strategy to return to yourself. A collection to reach for on a rainy day, to remind you that this too shall pass, that joy can be rekindled, and that beauty still exists—within you, and all around you.
