Mining Joy

Or, Finding the Sweet Spot in Life

Fun: The fruity-sweet smell and visual orangey-orange sight of the first circus peanut is where the fun lives. That first, satisfying, marshmallowy bite, with its instant sugar rush, then the motion toward the bag to gather up the next one. That's the sweet spot.

Anticipation causes your mouth to water as you reach into the bag to snag another one, although you couldn't describe the flavor of this treat if you had to, other than super-sized sweet. Some say banana, but that to me is a stretch.

The second one lands in your mouth and squeaks audibly between orange coated molars as you chew. It goes down smoothly, but lands at the bottom of your stomach with an unexpected thud. The first one, celebration, the second one, belly ache fodder.

Why do we try so hard to mine every possible drop of joy, instead of letting really good be good enough?

Feeling joy is a subjective thing. Things that bring you joy often come with a certain amount of expectation. Experiencing joy can be a little bit of Heaven on Earth. Sometimes Heaven is a plentiful stack of Biscoff cookies, to dip in a giant-sized hot coffee as one reads a tall stack of books.

I flew back in the dreadful days when Biscoff cookies were only offered on flights. Maybe they could be found elsewhere, but for me, a flight for business or pleasure meant (fingers and toes crossed) at least a double round of the two-in-a-pack, individually wrapped, gingerbread and salted caramel before it was a fad flavored cookies, with their fancy crimped edges. Other than Pepperidge Farm's gingerman cookies, none can rival my love for the Biscoff.

If they came to me broken, I would still upend the tiny package right there, shamelessly scattering crumbs on myself and possibly the person seated next to me in a flurry of unrestrained delight. More than likely, I would not lose a single crumb. They were just that good.

Sometimes my seat mates, marveling at my admiration of such a simple thing, would hand over theirs. The joy they could see written all over my face was a reward far greater than the two-pack of cookies. I could bond over that kind of generosity, and I generally keep to myself when I fly. Nothing's worse than hours of forced conversation with a stranger with whom you generally have nothing in common. With gifted cookies, you might have a chance to pry my nose out of my book and hear me speak. We could discuss cookies.

These days, you can find Biscoff cookies at most grocery stores, and even at the dollar store. I limit myself to one package a month and honest to Pete I intend to share, but often, I gobble them all up before Dan gets a chance to dip a single one. He doesn't have the sweet tooth that I have.

He also knows that cookies bring me great joy. They, alongside a steaming cup of coffee, can fix a bad mood for me like nothing else, except maybe a gotcha a treat at the store ice cream or candy bar. I am a girl of simple pleasures, and often, easy fixes.

Oh, the joy of finding Biscoff cookies on sale, in this day and age of shortages and rising prices! There is one caveat. No matter how carefully I transport my package of cookies home from the market, I am often left with half a package of perfectly dippable cookies, and the other half, sad and broken odd sized bits and pieces and cookie dust. I suspect that some come pre-squished. You can buy bags of Biscoff cookie crumbs, you know. They have to connect with the market for that product somehow.

I am always bummed at the ratio of dippers to crumbs. But has the actual product changed, really? That depends on your perspective. Nothing is wasted in our household. It's just the way both Dan and I are constructed, at our thrifty middles.

Half a bag of cookie crumbles is either sheer disappointment, or a crunchy cookie topping for a bowl of fresh from the orchard peach slices, or hot oatmeal on a chilly morning. Cookie crumbles, crushed, and mixed with melted butter become a superb cookie crust for a lemon ice-box pie. Cookie crumbs make an excellent fruit cobbler topping. You could upend them. The list goes on. Cry, or eat.

I hear Biscoff has a new cookie-ful ice cream that I have not tried, and cookie butter. I shy away, lest I become entranced and addicted.

I, on the other hand, have just mixed up a batch of homemade pineapple vanilla ice cream. It sits in the freezer chilling, just begging for a dusting of cookie crumbs. If I hadn't upended the last package of Biscoff biscuits, we would have had some sprinkled on the after lunchtime bowl.

Did we cry because we didn't have a cookie crumb topping, or did rejoice because we had homemade ice cream in our bowls? It's hard to say with our mouths full of creamy, tropical goodness. I am sure you can guess the answer.

Anne Lamott says expectations are resentments under construction. William Shakespeare says expectation is the root of all heartache. If you plan for joy that looks a certain way, it may find you but you may not recognize it. Expectation is the greatest enemy of joy.

If joy springs from the little things, then you have to notice and appreciate the little things to find it. You also have to be really content with good enough, because it is in appreciating good enough that those things become really good, or sometimes, Heaven on Earth.

Blessings,

Brenda Cordray

“The Desert Rose"

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