The Unstoppable Force of Tiny Pleasures
Don't miss out on feeling the grass between your toes
My socks are whipped off. I stand boldly at my back door, like a man about to take on the world - hands on hips, feet wide, face determined. I’m about to make the pilgrimage, all the way to the grassy patch in the garden, the only thing in my way… The gravel driveway.
I prepare to take my first step like a white guy on his gap year about to walk over hot coals. With an Ooo! Aaah! Eee! I set off, limping towards my quarry.
—
This all started because earlier today, a friend at work told me about her time as a nurse in a stroke ward. We were having a great conversation about simple living and nature when she shared something interesting with me.
It was that whenever she could, she would wheel her patients out to the small green space behind the hospital to let them feel the grass on their toes. She said, with a smile, that it was to help remind her patients what they were working towards, as they progressed through their months-long rehabilitation.
In the moment I applauded her care, it was an action above and beyond the call of duty, and I’m sure the help it provided was immeasurable. The conversation stuck with me. It wasn’t until I was driving home, several hours later, that something occurred to me:
When did I last feel the grass on my toes?
I haven’t walked on grass so far in spring, and I definitely didn’t in winter, plus I spent last autumn and summer in the rain. Does that mean it’s been years?! My outrage at myself almost boiled over.
—
I’ve made it to the two slabs that border the grass from the driveway. The hot sting from the gravel is relieved by the cold of the concrete. I psyche up and, with a tinge of embarrassment at how long it’s been, I step forward.
It’s been dry for days now, but I can feel that the morning frost has soaked moisture into the moss. A smile threatens the corner of my mouth and starts to grow. I start to walk around in circles, feeling self-conscious, as I stand sockless in my work clothes, grinning at my feet.
I continue to strut around the garden enjoying the spiky feel of the grass, the sponginess of the moss, and the cold damp that rises when I stay still too long. But I feel a little guilty. I start to wonder if I’m doing it right, shouldn’t I feel more? More free? More connected? More happy?
Beyond the guilt, another feeling is lingering. Sitting gently on me as I wiggle my toes in the grass is quiet contentment. It’s that small feeling that I encounter so often throughout my simple living journey, and like the flake of snow that becomes the avalanche, each small victory of joy crashes into another and grows stronger.
I lean into my quiet contentment and notice my shoulders start to relax. I realise my guilt comes from overthinking, again, and so I let it go, allowing it to float away on the breeze.
Stepping back onto the slabs, my parade around the garden has come to an end. I once again feel the cool touch of the stone slabs and reflect that so much of the joy in my life comes from the small things, like listening to a rushing river, eating a home-cooked meal, or standing barefoot on the grass. Small pleasures that are available to most of us, in isolation, they might feel insignificant, but they come together as an unstoppable force of joy.
Feeling smug about my revelation, one last thought occurs - I could have crossed the gravel before taking my shoes off…
Thanks for reading,
Kieran