Satisfaction

​For most of my life, happy was my default mode. Sure, I had my share of losses, disappointments, and downers, but I weathered even those with a positive outlook. I was no Pollyanna, yet I understood that while ups and downs were inevitable, gloom was not, and imagining the worst? Simply unproductive.
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Nan in happy mode

​Why not temper negativity with all the good things life could offer? I tried to do just that. Whether writing, taking photographs, traveling, cooking, gardening, hiking, hanging out with friends or making new ones, I immersed myself in every experience and enjoyed the moments. Even on days that felt too full to fit in big fun, I savored small joys—and the rushes of pleasure that washed over me when I took time to appreciate them. 
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​But everything changes, often unexpectedly, uncontrollably, and in ways that run counter to our desires. I should’ve known that, but experience had taught me that something good, maybe better, always replaced the bad. Things would eventually equalize, normalize, stabilize. That’s how it had always been for me: I had always come through, moved on, adapted. So when the latest in a life-long series of surgeries and cancer treatments interfered with my ability to do many of the simple things that previously brought me pleasure, I was unfazed.
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Still, I couldn’t help noticing a change. My joy reserve leaked away unti it registered EMPTY. It wasn’t only that I couldn’t do things I’d done before. Even when I could, I no longer felt the same doing those once pleasurable things. Going for a drive, taking a walk with a friend or with my camera—something felt off and made me anxious. I just wanted to go home, curl up on the couch, and sleep.
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Snap out of it, I told myself. You’re being a wimp.
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​Wimpy was not my M.O. I had always been strong and determined. Why couldn’t I summon those qualities and just do it? Why did every attempt leave me feeling depleted and disheartened instead of fulfilled? Why couldn’t I enjoy anything anymore?
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Only recently did I begin to understand what was different and what might help me regain some of what I was missing. It wasn’t just my hearing loss, missing teeth, speech impediments, constant mouth irritation and pain, inability to eat and drink normally, or loss of strength and stamina. Sure, those things were plenty discouraging, but the problem was not the impediments  themselves, but with something 
larger that they switched off in me.
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​The thing that would make me feel whole again was being able to relax and fully immerse myself in experiences--whether walking in the woods, going for a drive with Ray, working at my desk, practicing yoga, weeding the garden, watching a movie, or sitting on the front porch on a summer afternoon—without being constantly distracted by the discomfort and dysfunction brought on by the radical changes in my mouth structure and chemisty.
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​A step forward has been learning not to define enjoyment quite the way I once did. I’m trying to focus on what trauma researcher Mary Catherine McDonald, author of The Joy Reset calls tiny little joys (TLJs)—slivers of enjoyment throughout the day. For me right now, “joy” is a stretch, so I call my moments of appreciation “satisfactions.”
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​Some of mine:

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• Watching wildlife – recently, mother and baby rabbits (even if they’re a bit too fond of our flower patch) and hummingbirds (even if they keep us busy refilling their feeders)​

• Blank days on the calendar (even if I know they won’t stay that way)

• Little visuals: the dancing flame of the candle we light at dinnertime; late-afternoon sun shining through the fronds  of a Boston fern in our living room; the basket of silk sunflowers by our front door; sun catchers in the kitchen window

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• Hearing from someone I love or a long-ago friend who’s been out of touch

• My daily routines: yoga or strengthening exercises before breakfast; preparing and eating my usual morning oatmeal and fortified cocoa; playing New York Times word games. In the evening, listening to jazz on the radio and crawling into bed with a good book (currently, The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry)

• A new issue of Writers Digest or Outdoor Photographer in the mailbox​

• Writing something, even if only a few lines. A book review, a blog post, a micro-memoir. Even better: uninterrupted writing time.

• Sharing my words and images

• Pausing to look around our home and wooded setting​

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• Learning something.  Lately, the Vanoost multiple exposure photography technique. (I'm still working on that one.)

​Once I made a point of noting these small satisfactions, a funny thing happened. Every once in a while, a sliver of—dare I say it?—happiness unexpectedly appeared. I hadn’t lost my ability to enjoy life; I just needed to refresh and reframe it.

​How about you? What are your satisfactions and joys? Could they use a recharge?

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​For more on reclaiming joy:

​Practical Optimism: The Art, Science, and Practice of Exceptional Well-Being, Sue Varma (Avery, 2024)

​The Joy Reset: Six Ways Trauma Steals Happiness and How to Win it Back, MaryCatherine McDonald, (Balance, 2025)

​You, Recharged: How to Beat Fatigue (Mostly), Amp Up Your Energy (Usually), and Enjoy Life Again (Always), Polly Campbell (Mango Media, 2022)