I'm Collecting Evidence...
December 2, 2021
I cannot stop thinking about Tuesday night’s sunset.
On a call with a friend, I lost the thread of the conversation multiple times, finding myself completely absorbed by the exquisite tableau before me. Surrounded by the bayou’s reflection of the sky, I felt like I was in another universe.
As adults, it’s rare that we’re in awe. It’s unusual to witness something that renders us speechless, that leaves us with our mouths agape.
Often, it’s quite the opposite. The world leaves us with our jaws dropped in suffering or hardship.
Earlier this year, I struggled with the deepest depression of my adult life. A frequent symptom: I’d arrive at my destination and sit in my car, mouth agape. Breathing through my nose just felt too difficult. I’d wait in the silent cocoon of my Mazda, trying to summon the energy to open the car door.
Even in those darkest days, I found such solace in little moments I describe as daily delights—a collection of often fleeting moments that make us laugh, smile, or feel warm inside.
In the throes of depression, my delights weren’t on the scale of a majestic sunset in surround sound. Instead, it was the quiet delight of finding a penny on the ground.
We can collect evidence of the world as we wish to see it. We can quite literally take note, writing down our delights as a tool to seek out and accumulate what we want more of in our lives.
Particularly at a time when fear feels fused into every news story, from omicron to the potential loss of abortion access...
What would it feel like to collect evidence that the world can be a delightful place?
In real time, collecting such evidence can help us witness and tune into moments of delight, to create little respites from the challenges of our lives and the world around us.
And over enough time, it can have a profound effect on our worldview. It can make us happier, feel more whole.
As Lynn Twist writes, “Our attention enlarges and enriches our experience of whatever is before us.”
I’m taking lessons from my toddler. Felix has an uncanny radar for things that delight him: trains, playgrounds, pumpkins, and the color red.
While I strive to point out things he enjoys when we’re in the car, more often he beats me to it. Recently, he pointed out train tracks I’d never noticed on a route I’ve been driving for the better part of two decades.
Fe has the advantage of not driving the car while simultaneously trying to remember to schedule his next doctor’s appointment and check on our flood insurance premiums.
Instead, undistracted by the stress and responsibilities of adult life, Felix is entirely focused on absorbing the world around him and collecting his own delights.
What would it be like for us as adults if we dedicated even 1/100th of Felix’s focus to the moments that delight us.
Sure, I’m in awe of an epic, panoramic sunset, but we can collect evidence of the world we wish to see in the small stuff too—if we’re paying attention.
Evidence I collected on my walk yesterday:
Pleasant exchanges with strangers, from smiles to quick chats
Hearing snippets of zydeco and reggaeton music emanating from nearby houses and cars
Shouting “Ca caw, ca caw,” whenever I’m near my friend’s apartment, and the quick visit that follows from her balcony if she hears my call
Felix’s latest thrill is seeing how the toilet works. When he flushes, he asks to see the tank inside, and I explain how it functions. This otherwise routine, necessary activity has become a delight for us both. The Rube Goldberg machine at the back of the “potty” is legit pretty cool.
In this moment of fear, end of year acceleration, and holiday stress, strive to collect evidence of the world as you wish to see it.
May your day be peppered with things that bring you delight.
PS Shout out to Chelsea Rae Verslues, who shared the term “building evidence” as a way of seeking out and cataloguing that which we seek to find.
PPS The positive effects of this practice are contagious. Now, when my best friend Bryan sees a train in Dallas, he exclaims, “Twain twacks!”
