Mr. McBeardy carrying his bucket of joy, discovered walking along the Pacific in San Clemente, California on Friday, December 16, 2022.

Earlier this week, I had an encounter with another human that left me with hurt feelings. It wasn’t a big deal, nothing violent or even remarkable. Just quotidian, unnecessary meanness.

I’d imagine the other person involved didn’t intend to come across as arsey as they did, but they did and I felt hurt, which led me, with breath-taking speed, careening toward the churning undertow of self-doubt.

Gratefully, I realized what was happening as it was happening and literally stopped in my tracks, found a bench, and sat down to get a hold of my emotions before the shame spiral got bigger or tighter or whatever it is that spirals do.

That I was on one of my regular hikes at the time of the exchange was the first sign of trouble. I’d taken out my phone to change what I was listening to from an audiobook to something else and if I had done just that and returned my phone to it’s place in my fanny pack, my journey likely would have continued uninterrupted.

But NO. I had to check my email while I had my phone out. That’s when I saw the message and that’s when things started to go pear-shaped. I wasn’t fully present in the moment. I let myself be distracted by something that wasn’t walking and then started a conversation in my mind with someone who wasn’t physically present. You know the drill.

Listen, Falsani, ONE THING AT A TIME. Multi-tasking is not good for your mental, physical, or spiritual health. #BeHereNow

I know this. So, rather than continue walking and ruminating in my feelings, I stopped, found a bench, took out my phone once again but for good this time: I opened the Healthy Minds app that I’ve been using daily for the last month or so (and cannot recommend more enthusiastically—it’s completely free, no upsells, no ads, and it approaches mindfulness through brain science, which I have come to love), set it to a 20 minute sit and sat.

After I relaxed my mind and re-centered, I got back on the trail and I’d love to say I wasn’t thinking about the earlier interaction any more, but I was. So, I pulled out my contemplative toolbox and gave my mind a mantra to play with to keep it distracted from ruminating on the slight:

INHALE PEACE.
EXHALE JOY.
INHALE PEACE
EXHALE JOY.

I kept walking and breathing and repeating the simple mantra silently, while also trying to notice and be grateful for my surroundings. The ocean. The sun. The pelicans. The red and fuschia flowers that bloom on low succulent ground cover this time of year. The twin toe-headed boys running up the pier toward the Christmas tree at the end, one of them losing a baseball cap in his mad dash. I picked it up and handed it to his mom, with an even younger child strapped to her chest, who mouthed silently, “Thank you.”

As I continued to walk, inhaling peace and exhaling joy, I started to notice more things and give thanks for the grace of details.

That’s when I spotted him: The felt, bearded farmer wearing green overalls, a yellow hat, and jolly expression, carrying a bucket of water pictured at the top of this post.

At first, I saw him from behind (his back is just plain white) tucked into a rusting crack in a metal guardrail along the ocean side of the trail. I passed him for a few paces and then turned around to take a second look and saw his face. I’ve no idea what his pedigree or backstory is. I did an image search on Google and even Tweeted a close up of him (mostly to make sure it wasn’t some white nationalist mascot or otherwise nefarious symbol). But nothing turned up.

I don’t how Mr. McBeardy got there, whether a child or a seagull dropped him and someone decided to rescue him and give him a better view. Or maybe there’s some kindly or artsy (or both) soul walking around San Clemente leaving felt people hither and yon. Just for the whimsy of it.

All I could think when I saw McBeeardy was: SOMEBODY EXHALED JOY.

This now is my mission these last days of Advent (and perhaps beyond)—joyspotting.

Give it a go. Look for the small stuff. It’ll change your outlook and, I would venture to bet, elevate your mood as it did mine. I quickly forgot about the hurt feelings from the stupid email I shouldn’t have been reading on my walk in the first place. Joy rushing in to fill the space where there had been a little bit of pain and spilling over into my whole being. And it stuck, like cosmic glitter.

Joy abounds. All around us. We just need to pay attention to spot it.

Speaking of EXHALING JOY, on Saturday night, while making persimmon jam and wrapping presents and writing this, I watched the live stream from Levon Helm Studios in Woodstock, New York of the annual The Sounding Joy concert benefiting The Washbourne House, a shelter for domestic violence survivors in that area.

It was nearly four hours of pure holiday joy featuring performances from Kate Pierson (of the B-52s), Dar Williams, Amy Helm (Levon’s singer-songwriter daughter), Elizabeth Mitchell, Martha Wainwright, Jackson Speller, Chaney Sims, Kim Kalesti, AC Lincoln, and Amanda Palmer (which is how I learned about the event in the first place.) Amanda (of Dresden Dolls renown) is such a gift. I adore her honest, hilarious, heart-on-sleeve, rage-against-injustice-and-assholery, creative, combative, rebellious, love-filled, unfiltered, unfettered posts via her Patreon and would highly recommend you throw a few bucks her way for a subscription.

Anyway, The Sounding Joy gigs (there were two — one on Friday (with Natalie Merchant and a few others who didn’t perform Saturday) and the one on Saturday that I watched. I believe both are still available to watch on replay HERE for the next week. You just have to make a small donation to Washbourne House to gain access. Best $17.57 I’ve spent in a long time.

Treat yo-self. It’s a joyfest and the music is amazing. Dar Williams performed a brilliant song I’d not heard before that made me giggle and also brought me to tears, called “The Christians and the Pagans.” Instantly a new holiday favorite for me.

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Lux In Tenebris Lucet: Sunday, December 18

Day 21 of our 28-day Advent journey of mini-dispatches to give you pause and light.

“O misery. Imperfect
universe of days stretched out
ahead, the string of pearls
and drops of venom on the web,
losses of heart, of life
and limb, news of the worst:

Remind me again
the day will come
when I look back amazed
at the waste of sorry salt
when I had no more than this
to cry about.

Now I lay me down.
I’m not there yet.”
—Barbara Kingsolver, “How to Survive This” from her poetry collection How to Fly (In Ten Thousand Easy Lessons)

“See that I am God. See that I am in everything. See that I do everything. See that I have never stopped ordering my works, nor ever shall, eternally. See that I lead everything on to the conclusion I ordained for it before time began, by the same power, wisdom and love with which I made it. How can anything be amiss?”
—St. Julian of Norwich

You have not met yet everyone you will love, nor have you met yet everyone who will love you.

As we look toward the new year with the light that Advent summons, may we be brave and kind.

Much love to you all,

Earlier essays on Advent:

Share Cathleen Falsani: This Numinous World

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Cathleen Falsani: This Numinous World

Sunday Stories: Exhaling Joy