The world feels anything but bright. It’s the middle of winter, the rain is dripping down my windows and washing the night’s frost off our cars. The sun came only for a brief moment yesterday. For only a brief moment yesterday, we felt lighter.
The brief glimpses of sun are like a portal into another world in grey, dreary, wintery Ohio. You can see, for a moment, the possibility of what could be. But still, my depression feels heavy, a weighted blanket I didn’t ask for.
This winter the weight is even heavier. Day after day, hour after hour, new Executive Orders, bills, court cases, and a nascent constitutional crisis push forward hate, oppression, and bigotry. It is designed to exhaust us, to overwhelm us. It is designed to make us feel utter despair. We can’t possibly stay afloat amidst all of this chaos and suffering.
And yet.
And yet, a poem keeps resurfacing in my mind that has become my lifeboat. During the pandemic, a good friend sent it along when I was at a deep low. I couldn’t see past the suffering, I couldn’t justify anything but guilt and sadness and doing everything in my power to care for my community.
She reminded me that “the work” isn’t just organizing. “The work” can, and should be, about delight too. In fact, it’s a mandate.
“We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.”
—A Brief for the Defense by Jack Gilbert (excerpt)
The poem puts suffering into perspective. There is an immense amount of “Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere.” But still we must live and find delight, “Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not / be made so fine.”
Ignoring delight could lead to becoming lost in a well of suffering. Strife and resistance are here for a reason. We are fighting for more than justice — we are fighting for freedom to have delight not be a risk, but have it be so ingrained in our everyday lives it’s like breathing. We are fighting for delight. We are fighting for that vision a more just and beautiful world. Each and every time we risk delight, we are living in this sparkling future.
This poem catches my breath whenever I think of it. It pushes me to sign up for dance classes, take a moment to watch the wind in the barren winter branches of trees, and sink into hugs with loved ones. Choosing to seek delight might feel like a risk right now — there is so much work to be done. But without delight, it’s all too easy to lose sight of what the work is for.
Next time the sun shows us a portal to another world, step outside and let yourself be taken away, even for a moment.
Put on your favorite album and listen to it all the way through (not just that one song you love). Let the story of the music move your body.
Discover a new recipe and let each bite melt in your mouth.
Make a meal for a friend and surprise them with it. Don’t wait for them to get sick and need soup. They need soup now. You need soup now.
Channel your inner Dad Vibes and wave hello to a neighbor while you’re on a walk. Maybe stop and chat with them. Give the gift of a smile.
Pull out your markers and crayons and doodle for absolutely no reason. Make squiggles and shapes and let the colors bleed together. Take it to your favorite café or bar and invite strangers to join you.
Find out when your local museum has a free day and go stare at art. Maybe strike up a conversation with the person next to you about how the blue really makes the mountains more pronounced, and how it reminds you of Colorado in the Spring.
Make time for delight.
Risk setting aside time for joy.
And most importantly, risk inviting someone else into the delight.
Delight is contagious.
Delight is powerful.
Delight is a gift.
We need each other more than ever, and we need each other not just in moments of sadness or anger or focus.
We need moments to share in imagination, relax into a feeling, and laugh together.
Delight is risky because you are opening yourself up to a different kind of vulnerability. You are seeing a potential of a world that doesn’t exist all the time for you.
And yet in that moment of delight, the seed of revolution is sown.
Risk delight.
“We must admit there will be music despite everything.”
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