Delving Into the Essayist Deep: The Book of Delights
Coping mechanisms are often the sustenance to my daily life. Whether I am aware of them or not, I seek out details of awe to stave off depressive moments. The depression is a churning medley of past trauma, mistakes revisited, and the like. Sometimes the greatest sustenance is from the smallest source; strokes of nature along the drums of my ears, stories that stoke my reverie, the filaments of an old bulb, long hugs, a plant I thought I killed come back to life.
These are delights.
I have acquired a deep appreciation in naming them as such, because of a book by the poet, Ross Gay. The Book of Delights transported me in 102 short stories, where I gleaned the enormity of delights upon the human soul.
One of the keenest features about it is they were not always positive nor pretty. Sometimes they were ugly and awkward, a transparency that I gravitated toward because of the way Gay seemed to walk life with tender awareness. Such is the kind of life I think about constantly (stressful delight). So, I ate up each story, dog eared the chapters that resonated, and when finished, was both satisfied and terribly hungry for more. He included in several of his essays, particular books, films, and music that inspired him. Some were catalysts to a new understanding, some simply the context to a discovered delight. Here I found a creative epiphany. I felt a bit on the verge of an obsession (unhealthy delight?), deeply elated to pursue each one I could find.
So, the pursuit…
forty-eight
The number of references and suggestions I counted (upon my 50th read, I did discover like three more, but they were all horror films…I am not sure I feel the same necessity to watch possessed Regan’s head spin 360 degrees and projectile vomit…I have a bit of emetophobia). Each reference was part of Ross Gay’s own delight adventure, and my hope is to walk this adventure with all reactions welcome.
I only want to be a witness to these creations and continue to find my own. These suggestions and reflections might leave little impression, even be disliked. They might also be cherished hummed music and books with bent spines like arched backs from many reads. In other words, the foundation of delight’s definition to me, is curiosity.
I have stepped into this already feeling a precarious amount of poignant experience. I have rewritten this paragraph alone a dozen times, capturing the passing of time, and the incomplete nature of this project. It has required an honest reality check of my habits, as creative pursuits tend to pull me by tugs of great motivation followed by a saunter into apathetic corners. A spark sometimes renews, but also, they sometimes become just an etched moment in time.
I have to say, with a nicely balanced exuberance, I have never thought of this delight adventure as a whim, though whims are delightful too. This is a life pursuit and I am so glad for it. It has taken years, and I still come back to it. The decisiveness of the first year continues because I’ve learned an important insight multiple times. Cautions and trials can sometimes strip joy bare and leave my world a shade despondent…delight re-frames such experiences. Again, not always positive and pretty, but honest and appreciative and full of humor. Truths I took from Gay’s writings. It gives a sense of purpose to the time I am spending here, an especially significant perspective, considering there are many times I do not want to be here (and there are many forms of “here”).
beyond the book
I found a strong interest to cultivate my own delight diary documentation. I have discovered a greater awareness of distinct patterns of my delights, some I am not particularly proud of and some that rest in my chest with fondness. The awkward and damaging have far more value for me than I ever thought possible, what a…yes I will say the word again…delight.
. . .
I am delighted to publish this, delighted to have engaged in the act of noticing and lingering and learning for the last 5 years. I planted my appreciation exactly in the moment and it is still alive. It wilts and fades, and I trust it will awaken within me again and again as the deep breath of tranquil curiosity rises and falls from my chest.
Thank you, Mr. Gay, thank you.
.Kels.