“Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”
A Stick Worth Celebrating
I saw a video of a golden retriever, and it reminded me of my golden, Wrigley. He left us a few years ago.
I watched as he celebrated a stick like it was the greatest discovery in the world, tail wagging proudly, showing everyone.
Everything was a celebration. Life, a stick, you walking out of the room and coming back in twenty seconds later—everything was cause for joy. The boundless enthusiasm for life.
It was just a stick.
But was it?
To him, it was everything. In that moment, it was everything.
Thinking about this, I had a simple thought:
I want that.
Rationing Enthusiasm
Somewhere along the way, we seem to start rationing our enthusiasm. We decide what’s worthy of excitement and what isn’t. We learn to be a little more measured. A little less impressed.
I’ve noticed that sometimes when I’m delighted by something small—a simple moment, an idea, something I’ve noticed—and the person next to me doesn’t react the same way, I feel the wind leave my sails a little.
It’s like I’m holding up the stick saying, “Look!” and the response is more of a quiet “mm”.
For a while, I assumed that meant they just didn’t see it the way I did.
But lately I’ve been wondering if that might not be the whole story.
Pine Cone Pals
Recently my granddaughter and I took a walk in the woods behind our house. She gathered pine cones along the trail with the kind of excitement only a seven-year-old can have. Her excitement was contagious.
When we got back to the house, she turned them into what she called pine cone pals, with googly eyes and little bits of pine needles for hair.
Watching her felt just as joyful to me. It didn’t look like her joy—but it was real all the same.
Different Kinds of Joy
That made me realize something. Maybe the difference isn’t that some people hold back joy. Maybe we just experience it differently.
Some joy wags.
Some joy watches.
Some people bounce with excitement.
Some people smile quietly.
Some people simply feel the warmth of the moment without announcing it.
And sometimes, the joy someone feels is in watching a dog enjoy the stick.
That thought softened something in me.
I don’t have to shrink my joy just because it isn’t echoed the same way. And I don’t have to assume it isn’t seen.
So I think I’m going to keep celebrating the sticks.
The small moments.
The simple discoveries.
The quiet delights that show up on ordinary days.
The stick is still wonderful—even if I’m the only one holding it.
And who knows.
Sometimes when someone sees a person happily carrying a stick, they might start noticing the sticks around them too.
Be kind to Yourself.
What ways do you find joy?
Let me know what you think. I’m always open to meaningful conversation.