jazz and twinkle lights

(To really get the most out of this post, I highly recommend plugging in a strand of white Christmas lights (or at least dimming some lights or sitting by a fire) and/or lighting some candles, and putting on this Spotify playlist (scroll down and start with this song). Ready? Here we go…)

Wednesday evenings have become something of an oasis for me.

Last fall, I committed to start making more room in the way I was ordering my days for the things that I actually want to prioritize (as opposed to just letting my time fill up, as it is somehow wont to do if I am not paying attention). I started attending The Table (a mid-week service that my church began holding), and while it did take a great deal of discipline and planning to clear the five hours it required every Wednesday evening, it quickly turned out to be incredibly worth it.

It was so lovely to just stop for a beat in the middle of the week. I began to feel more grounded in the liturgy, and to make new friends. There was also suddenly more space to think about things that truly matter: faith, friendship, philosophy, journey… (You know, all the things I tend to write about…)

I’ve missed those gatherings, and I’m so looking forward to seeing them start up again tonight – but I decided at the beginning of this year that making Wednesdays an oasis again was important, even without a service to attend, and so I’ve tried to make a real point of blocking the majority of my Wednesday evenings for something equal parts restful and fun. Usually that looked like a good book and a glass of wine, and sometimes it looked like both those things and dinner out.  Sometimes it looked like a cup of tea and a good movie. And sometimes it looked like making time to write.

One of my favorite traditions last fall became stopping in for dinner and/or creme brûlée at my favorite little French café in Chelsea (Le Grainne) on the way to The Table.  The creme brûlée is to die for, and the atmosphere is absolutely delightful.  There is often jazz reminiscent of the roaring 20s on the stereo (are you listening to it right now?), twinkle lights in the windows, and carefully chosen decor – it’s much like walking into a Parisian café a hundred years ago, a scene straight out of Midnight in Paris. Except for, you know, NYC traffic outside the windows. But otherwise…

I was sitting in that café with my creme brûlée, listening to good music, and writing the initial notes for this post on Nov. 7th, when I noticed objectively that I was completely and utterly happy. And truthfully, the only real thing I wanted to say about it at the time is that it was true. Life was good, and this one moment – just before the holidays, with good jazz, amazing food, and twinkle lights – somehow encapsulated it perfectly.

I’ve been thinking about it off and on for awhile – what is it about moments like this that “leap off the page,” so to speak? Why do memories like this stand out the way they do?

And I think perhaps it is exactly that word – “encapsulated” – that gets at it. There are moments that absolutely feed our souls (sometimes in ways we can’t explain) in which we are completely and utterly happy. What made me happy in that moment was a perfect storm of peace, anticipation, rest, atmosphere, and flavor; what would make you happy in a moment could have entirely different factors, but will feel just as real. And that moment becomes a treasure: something to come back to, but also something to aspire to.

Perhaps particularly more so in the insanely fast-paced environs of New York City, but truly anywhere, moments like these are starting to feel more rare. But we need them – maybe more than ever. What will it look like for you – to carve out time, to create space for happiness in the middle of this likely busy week? I’d encourage you to sit with the question for a bit. And then commit to making it happen. You won’t regret it.