this little life

The past couple of months, while scrolling through my Instagram feed (which I do far too often, it must be said), I’ve noticed that many of the videos include an audio clip of the song “Little Life,” by Cordelia. Its soft but catchy hook, “I think I like this little life,” ends up staying with me for hours after I’ve finally put down my phone.

The thing I love most about hearing this song everywhere on social media is that the accompanying videos usually share some mundane aspect of the person’s life: they’re decorating their homes for the holidays, or walking on the beach with their kids, or carefully washing their faces, or even shooting baskets. Every time I see them, I love these glimpses — of folks I don’t even know — taking a moment to appreciate the moments of good that are happening in their private worlds.

The images remind me of a time, many years ago, when I shared a series of photos I’d taken of a mug of tea in the sunlight in my office. I’d taken them simply to see if I was capable of photographing steam — which is harder than you’d think — and I shared them online with a simple caption, something like, “my mug of tea.” I clicked “publish,” and went about my day.

Later, I discovered someone had left a comment. “Gosh,” she said, “you’re so lucky you have such a beautiful life.” I remember thinking, I mean, it’s just a mug of tea. I’m certain that commenter had drunk a hot beverage before, and if she happened to place her mug in a sunbeam, she would have seen exactly what I’d photographed. My life is no more beautiful than hers.

But I realize now that her comment made a lovely point: I did have a beautiful life, just not in the grandiose ways that we often think “a beautiful life” is supposed to mean. But my life was beautiful enough to contain a hot mug of tea, and streaming sunlight in my window. And that’s not nothing.

Like many of you, I watch the news of the world with increasing discouragement and horror: the violence, the cruelty, the bigotry, the mean-spiritedness, the sniping — it’s enough to make anyone want to put their hands over their ears, squeeze their eyes tight, and curl up in a ball. (I have a theory that the reason we’re fed these doom-filled stories 24/7 is that the media makes more money when we’re perpetually panic-stricken, but that’s a rant for another time.) It’s why, I think, I love the song “Little Life,” and why I love the online videos that accompany it: they’re evidence that good exists in the world, and a reminder why we need to keep fighting the darkness.

In related news, this weekend my dad turned 84 years old.

My mom wanted to take him to dinner, and they invited Marcus and me to tag along. As we sat down at our table, I asked: “What do you wish for yourself for the year ahead, Dad?”

He thought for a minute, and then he said, “I want to live my life to the fullest. I want to live this year as if it were my last. And then next year, I’ll want to do the same. And the same the year after that. When you get to my age, living like this is important.”

I’ve been thinking about this since he said it, and while he could’ve been expressing a do-everything-on-the-bucket-list intention, I don’t think that’s what he meant. I think he meant savouring his little life as much as possible. Even more, I think his intention is to create moments that he could keep savouring, as best he can. Because I think we often just let life happen to us, forgetting how much agency we have to create moments of lovely — simple moments, like walking on the beach or even carefully washing our faces. And when we focus on these moments, hopefully, they remind us how much we love our little lives.

And in a world that capitalizes on our horror and discouragement, sometimes loving our little lives can feel like an act of rebellion.

P.S. One more reminder that if you’re looking for someone to help get you started on a project or a goal for 2024, slots are still available for the Firestarter Coaching Sessions! Registration will remain open until this Friday, February 2nd, at 5pm Central. I hope you’ll join me!