Contemplating dandelions and joy

This week, the dandelions bloomed in earnest. There’s a buzz of insect life in the air, and where other plants are in flower there’s been a cheering amount of activity. With the year turning towards summer here in the UK, it’s finally been warm enough for some sitting out.

I very much like sitting out as a contemplative practice. Simply being in a space and paying attention to it is an effective way of connecting with the land. I don’t try and direct my thoughts while I’m doing this, I just try to stay present to what’s around me and let whatever emerges happen.

It struck me that the combination of warm sunlight and a cool breeze is profoundly lovely. It had been a while since I’d encountered such perfect conditions, and I took the time simply to relish it. Taking time to rest in the sun is something that really works for me – when the conditions allow that. Breathing slowly and relaxing into the gentleness of the day allowed me to contemplate my situation.

Dandelions are such incredibly joyful things. The plants themselves are tremendously resilient – something my writing partner David Bridger has been talking about a lot this week, which is why I was paying attention to them. At this point in the year, with the trees only just re-greening, the colour intensity of dandelion flowers is really something to behold. They are so easily dismissed as weeds, or overlooked. I took the time to appreciate them, to love their vibrant, sunny yellow and their role in feeding bees and other insects.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how and why I burn out, and what I need to change to avoid that. I’m fairly sure that I can pour from myself in a sustained way if it feels like I’m getting things done. Aside from the number of hours I can be active in a day, there aren’t many limits on my ability to give if the giving is meaningful. What’s worn me down over the years are too many situations where giving everything didn’t seem to change anything. I’ve been reviewing those experiences.

There is considerable joy for me in being able to make a difference. That joy is key to everything. Where I’ve got into trouble, it’s because I’ve waded in for people who were crying out for help, but who in practice simply wanted the attention and had no intention of being helped. I’m very much up for paying attention to people when that helps them, but people who want attention while they double down on their own misery are soul destroying for me. My own mental health suffers too much if nothing I do is meaningful or can make a difference.

I can be more resilient if I make time for joy. I have more to give if I spend time on things that nourish me. Sometimes that can be as simple as sitting in the sun, appreciating the cool breeze and delighting in the flowers. I need birdsong, and the flow of the stream. I can do a great deal with small and peaceful joys so long as I make a point of seeking them out. That means having time in the day, and not being so overwhelmed by everything else that I don’t feel able to make time for my own needs.

I’m thinking a lot at the moment about how to bring more joy into my life, and who might be likely co-conspirators for the kinds of shenanigans that delight me. I’m wondering how much good I can do simply by creating more space for happiness.