Thursdays

Recently, thanks to another blogger, I experienced the "psychological relief" of learning the oh-so-apt name for what we're all experiencing in the 20s: hypernormalization. This is that feeling of dread and powerlessness that permeates our modern lives as we endure daily chaos written off by those in power as uh, I don't know, Thursday, so we square our shoulders, endure, and continue our daily lives amidst the pervasive instability, because uh, what the hell can we really do about it anyway? Sigh. 

So I'm taking a break, sort of a psychological relief break. Let me explain. 

While watering the front garden yesterday, a butterfly landed on me. Oddly, I gasped. I think I reacted this way because it's very 2025 to deem this incident as the ominous opening "butterfly effect" to yet another shitshow. But no. Just what I needed, it took me out of my head. I love it when nature taps me on the shoulder. Delightful. 

Despite everything, what else is delightful? Let's go there. 

Words. Words are delightful. So is corn-on-the-cob and trees and the northern lights and ice cream and garden spaces and when women wear kilts in curling competitions and wedding vows and music and art and the human eye (each so startlingly unique and beautiful) and history class and movies and hilarious one-liners and Lego and librarians and architects and artists and writers and ee cummings and books so moving they shouldn’t end and deep-fried fish and chips and Scotland and Ireland and the Maritimes and Montreal and the wide Saskatchewan horizon line and waving grain and frogs and northern Alberta’s long, long summer days and a freshly painted room and golden hour and watching people open presents and (controversial) tuna casserole and The Swedish Chef and bork bork bork and making cupcakes and cookies and giving them away and haircuts and sleeping in and lavender and poppies and rabbits and snowmobiling and skiing and long walks and picking saskatoons and wood furniture and my bed and my house and my flat-cap and CBC radio and sudden rain and sticky-note pads and my grandkids and the countless ways my spouse, my children, and their children enrich and fortify my ordinary (extraordinary) life, and friends too, playing dice or Ticket-to-Ride or texting memes and when human facades fade and when we admit our stupidity and interdependence and people who don’t condemn others and don't complain just for the sake of complaining and people who understand being neighbourly and Dolly Parton and nurses and people who care for the elderly and my past and present teachers and every teacher my kids ever had and grandmothers and people who snowplow or can fix your AC and people committed to improving the world peacefully and self-deprecating people and comedians and unifiers and people who volunteer and people who are honest, people who encourage without ulterior motives and especially how sometimes the world seems to conspire to make me butterfly happy and oh ya, run-on sentences—I love run-on sentences too.

Dear friends, there is also psychological relief in naming what you delightfully love. Even on Thursdays. Sigh, it's often impossible to love what's going on in the world, but we can love our way through it. Right?