The Stories We Keep
It's funny how life sometimes places seemingly unrelated experiences right next to each other, and suddenly you find yourself connecting dots you didn't even know were there.
This week, between remembering a colleague we lost a year ago and gathering with family to say goodbye to someone we love, I heard a sentence that stopped me in my tracks: "Grief feels a lot like fear."
And I haven't stopped thinking about it. About grief, fear, the stories we tell, and how the smallest moments in our lives often become the biggest memories we leave behind.
Hello Imagination, nice to see you again.
And I've written another letter.
Perhaps that's enough for this week.
Because what I'm realizing is that these letters aren't just a way to tell you about my creative journey.
They've become part of how I'm finding my way back to it.
And the most delightful part?
Someone noticed when one was missing.
So here's to the big ideas, the unfinished projects, the imaginary empires, and the very inspired slugs among us.
Here's to choosing courage when fear is holding us back, and giving ourselves permission to rest when life is simply asking too much.
And here's to discovering that sometimes, the little thing you start doing to find your way back to yourself ends up opening a door you didn't even know you were looking for.
A little question before you go...
Have you ever started doing something for one reason, only to discover it was giving you something entirely different?
I'd love to hear about it. Truly. Because one of the unexpected joys of writing these letters has been realizing how much I enjoy the conversations they start.
what happens to the things we love?
The things we love are often the least demanding things in our lives.
My sketchbook isn't going to send me a follow-up email.
The painting I haven't started isn't going to be disappointed in me.
The book I want to write won't put a meeting on my calendar.
The Little Joys of Art isn't going to knock on my bedroom door and announce that it needs dinner.
It just waits.
And because it waits, it can be incredibly easy to keep saying:
Tomorrow.
This weekend.
After this busy season.
After this event.
After the holidays.
After things calm down.
When I have more energy.
When I'm less tired.
When life isn't quite so...life.
And I think that's the question underneath the question.
What happens to the things we love while they're waiting for us?
This week, The Little Joys of Art didn't get very much of me.
I made one social media post.
I placed an order for two custom Halloween cards I had created for clients.
And I'm writing this letter.
An ode to noticing things…
two days ago, I woke up and the world smelled like fall.
I don't really know how else to describe it.
It wasn't particularly cold. There weren't piles of orange leaves swirling around my feet. No one had handed me a pumpkin spice latte while a scarf dramatically blew in the breeze.
It just smelled like fall.
And I noticed.
I like that I notice things like that.
I notice that sometime over the past year, people have started sticking their green #myCMA stickers to the fire hydrant outside the museum. There are enough of them now that the hydrant is slowly becoming its own tiny piece of street art and i wonder - do others notice this too?
Two days ago i also watched a man walking down the street carrying one perfect red rose And immediately I wanted to know the story.
Who was it for?
Was he meeting someone?
Was it an apology?
A first date?
An anniversary?
Did he just see a rose somewhere and think, I want that rose because it’s beautiful.
I will never know.
Which is probably part of why I like it.
I notice things.
Are you there, Reader? It’s Me, Joy
Last week, I published my first Little Joy Letter.
And almost immediately after pressing publish, I had one thought:
What if no one reads it?
Not exactly the triumphant look at me, I did the scary thing! moment I imagined.
Instead, all of the questions & fears came rushing in.
Who am I to assume anyone wants to read what I have to say?
What if nobody cares? Also, why should someone care?
What if I'm just writing words into the giant void of the internet and occasionally my mom clicks the link? (And yes, my mom did click the link 🙂).
But my mind literally did go: Are you there, Reader? It's me, Joy.
And apparently, I am willing to admit, I would really like to know you're there.
I've been thinking about why that matters to me. I have never been someone who needed recognition.
Because if this were simply about writing for myself, I could keep a journal. I do have many diaries from my childhood.
If it were only about making art for myself, I could fill my house with it and never show another person.
But that's not really why humans make things.
Humans make things to communicate.
Writers need readers. Artists need someone on the other side of the canvas. Storytelling inherently assumes another person. Someone to receive it. Someone to recognize something in it.
Someone who might say: “Oh. Me too.”
And maybe that's what I'm actually looking for.
I don’t know what this is yet…
The Little Joys Started With Art
The Little Joys of Art started because I love art.
That part hasn't changed.
I love making things.
I love museums.
I love art history.
I love finding strange connections between something made hundreds of years ago and something happening in my life on an otherwise completely ordinary Tuesday.
I love noticing things.
A ridiculous facial expression in a Renaissance painting.
Ancient marks scratched into stone.
A landscape that looks impossible.
A dog sitting in a pose that somehow makes her look like an Egyptian sphinx.
The things humans make—and the things humans notice—tell us something about who we are.
And somewhere along the way, I realized that maybe that is the part I am actually obsessed with.
Not only art.
People.