When Axel Transfers Joy

“To get the full measure of joy, you must have someone to divide it with.”

Mark Twain

I read that recently and it resonated with me. I thought of it yesterday while Axel and I were out on a walk. If for no other reason, it’s good for me to have a dog because it makes me get off the couch. It was a glorious February afternoon with sunshine and snow drifts aplenty. I let him off his leash for stretches of the trail and his joy was unbridled as he circled around me and dashed ahead of me. It was while the smile was spreading across my own face that I realized another principle about joy: the possibility of transference.

It’s one thing when we are both enjoying ourselves. Yes, sharing an experience together enhances our joy of the moment. But vicariously engaging in HIS thrill brought me joy. His Zoomies through the snow, the smile on his face. He transferred his joy to me. What a gift.

It made me think about what it is that brings me joy, and do I transfer it to others?

I circled back to the realization that joy happens when I have moments / make space in my life for finding Zuzu’s petals. Not as in my blog, but in looking for the pieces of my day that represent Real Life. I take joy in moments when I have nothing else to do or think about than what is happening right now, and giving my brain time to breathe that in or something, which causes me to reflect. It had been awhile since I consciously thought “this is joy to me.”

The transfer of Axel’s joy caused me to notice. As we came out of the woods and into blinding sunshine, the snow glistened all around us. A voice in my head said “He could have made snow without sparkle.” But he didn’t. And it’s not that God waved a wizard’s wand to make light dance and gleam across a field of white. He embedded Sparkle in the very laws that the earth is bound to follow. Right? It’s in the nature of snow to sparkle because of science-y facts about the reflection of light and the something-ness of water particles. And he gave us eyes that perceive it. God is good.

Reflection. Originally, the literal meaning of the word was a bending back. Maybe that’s how joy works.

And just as our feet continued their trek on the trail, my mind followed a path. I thought about my life and the direction it is taking. As we wandered in and out of woods, I thought about the Robert Frost poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, and the one about two roads diverging… the one less traveled by that has made all the difference. We are all on one road or another, and while some people impact the world significantly, that isn’t everyone’s path. I thought of what Lavinia Swire said on her deathbed as I contemplated the scale of my personal world (in case you’re not up on Downton Abbey, Lavinia came close to snatching Matthew away from Lady Mary before succumbing to the Spanish Flu). She said, “It’s not in me to be Queen of the County. I’m a little person; an ordinary person.” I identify with that, as I’m sure many people do.

That led me to thinking about what Kathleen Kelly (aka Meg Ryan) said in You’ve Got Mail: “Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life – well, valuable, but small.”

Great value can be found in small. Axel just reminded me: that’s where joy is found. And we often overlook it in our quest for big.

That reminded me of the lyrics of a song by JJ Heller I came across that has been on replay in my mind over the past month or so: “…You’ll find big magic in the mundane, the big picture in a small frame. Everything is sacred when you take time to notice. Big love happens in the small moments. Big love happens in the small moments.”

Because of Axel, I get off the couch and trudge through snow… noticing small moments and details… embracing joy. I also fall down. That’s happened twice in the past week. It’s not Axel’s fault, but I wouldn’t have been in the position of falling on ice if I wasn’t out walking a dog. So there’s that.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost