#6: The radiance in dailiness.
Grief taught me to see the magic in the “ordinary”. Let me show you an easier way.
How grief removes the veil of the ordinary.
“Death, along with all its anger, pain and loss, opens a window of possibility for the living. It removes the veil that the “ordinary” gently draped over our eyes. Renewed sight is the hero’s last loving gift to those left behind.” - Bruce Springsteen in his memoir Born to Run.
Let me tell you dear reader, this statement could not be more true.
When I finally emerged from the acute phase of grief after my husband died, I was blown away with how the smallest details had become illuminated.
Sensations that I had blown by for decades — on my way to do very important things no doubt — now grabbed and held my attention, forcing me to do a double-take.
How could that cardinal possibly be so red against the deep green outline of the maple leaves?
How can this fleece blanket (which has lived on my couch for two years) suddenly feel so soft against the soles of my feet?
How have I hummed along to this song for decades, but now it moves me to tears every time I hear it?
How does the ceiling at the airport I’ve walked through countless times now seems so beautiful with its arched domes and yellow beams?
Suddenly my reality consisted of tiny and immeasurable units of beauty that were freckled across every day like sprinkles on a buttercream-topped cupcake.
These previously unremarkable details added up to a glorious, delicious, technicolor whole that I was amazed to call my life.
And still am today.
(Ah, there it is again… Another reminder of the paradox that The Luminist is built upon: reflecting on the mysteries of grief and loss help us better embrace the mysteries of living and fulfillment.)
But I didn’t write this post to tell you how everything is soooo great since Mike died.
I wrote it to bring back lessons from the other side.
To share that this way of interacting with, absorbing, being cracked open by the “ordinary” is right here. Right in front of us. As long as we know where (and how) to look.
The veil is escapable. And the magic on the other side is everywhere.
I didn’t come up with the title of this post on my own. I gladly stole it from author Don DeLillo, who used the phrase while describing his book White Noise to The New York Times.
“I tried to find a kind of radiance in dailiness,” DeLillo said.
“This extraordinary wonder of things is somehow related to the extraordinary dread.”
The radiance…
In dailiness.
Not the radiance in a:
Once-a-year vacation
One-time special event
Career-defining success
Life-time achievement
The radiance in “holy smokes, have you ever noticed how downright delightful that thing that we see/hear/touch/eat/experience everyday is??”
The taste of a raspberry exploding in your mouth. The tinkling belly-laughter of a small child playing peek-a-boo with her father. The feeling of acceptance and intimacy and belonging as you gab comfortably with your good friend.
These aren’t unique moments! They are common denominators in many, if not all, of our lives!
And yet we blow through them without absorbing the nourishment they have to offer…
So what does it take for us to slow down enough to appreciate them?
(Preferably besides experiencing a devastating loss…)
Removing the veil, the easier way.
So my advice from the other side?
While we search for fulfillment and/or happiness in all the modern places — money, prestige, beauty, success, pick your poison — the entrance to the path is hiding in plain sight. Daily sight.
In fact, “the path” probably doesn’t even look like a path.
It’s covered in wildflowers and seemingly blocked by brush and branches. It doesn’t look like it will take you anywhere. But it will, just not in the way you are used to…
Ok, enough waxing poetic for my logical thinkers!
Here’s the step-by-step procedure:
When something daily, something regular, something seemingly mundane catches your eye (or ear, or nose, or fingertip!) with a tiny burst of sensation, linger.
Slow down.
Stay with those first sprouts of curiosity.
Then feel the wonder blossoming inside.
Don’t turn away.
Don’t judge it as a waste of time, a distraction from moving on to more “productive” things.
Let the thrill of noticing something “new” (even if it is old!) envelope you, body and mind.
In other words… Immerse yourself in the noticing.
Maybe we should rename the veil of the ordinary the veil of busyness.
Because really that is what is getting in our way.
The idea that we don’t have enough time — aka, it’s not important enough — to slow down.
But we have enough time! (Netflix and social media know it.)
We just don’t have permission… from ourselves.
So we have to master the mental gymnastics to pole vault over our entrenched busyness mindsets and allow ourselves to take a beat.
To literally smell the roses!
To follow the gently-used path into our aliveness — our inherent and endless wonderment at just being alive, all together, on this planet.
Grief, shock, and loss take a sneaky backdoor into giving us this permission…
Post-loss, the present moment is the only place to find relief from the pain of the past and the fear of the future (explaining the link between wonder and dread in DeLillo’s quote above.)
Desperation drives us into the small, sensational details… but we’ll just call it “permission”.
But even without being shattered by what just happened and terrified of what comes next, we can still prioritize the present.
We can still learn to give ourselves permission…
To put down the mantle of what needs to be done — just for a few moments — and breathe deeply into what is.
I’m not saying training our minds to momentarily step out of “doing” to embrace “noticing” is easy. Especially when it's culturally ingrained to believe that “doing” makes us good, contributing, productive members of society.
I’m saying we can do both.
We can recognize that hard work, service, problem solving, providing is incredibly fulfilling. And even more fulfilling when we can combine it with access to the magic of being present in and conscious of the here and now.
When we are not a slave to the grind but not adrift in the ocean of sensation either.
When we straddle both worlds, somehow marrying them together.
When we become an acolyte of the small detail, a worshiper of the beauty that exists all around us… and we let it fuel us into purposeful, meaningful, fulfilling action.
This is “real” life.
If you don’t believe me, I dare you to take the first step onto the hidden path of “noticing”.
More magic will follow. I promise. Because I live it.
(And I didn’t believe it before either.)
As I finish this post, here is my “radiant dailiness” of the morning breaking from my writing seat.
Find yours today.
Take a mere moment to notice the awe-inspiring embedded in the “ordinary”.
And if you are truly too busy… remember that, whether you’re paying attention or not, you are surrounded by magic.
With awareness,
Sue
Beautiful