“When humans are ranked instead of linked, everyone loses.”
GLORIA STEINEM

L O N G   R E A D

 

 

Small Pleasures

 

 

In 2016, The School of Life published a book called Small Pleasures. It offers exactly what the title promises: a book full of little joys that are available to us in daily life, should we make the time and have the presence of mind to notice them. Inspired by this appreciation of all things daily and beautiful, here are a few of our own small pleasures.

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Sun on your face

It’s not cheeks burning under the blazing afternoon sun or tightness in the forehead from a stubborn desire for a tan; it’s much more subtle than that. The gentle dance of dappled rays across your whole face for a minute or ten, the way you close your eyes and tilt your head back and the golden goodness seems to smooth over you like a wave over a rock, coating your skin in a sparkly kind of warmth. Delicious always, but especially so in winter.

 

A pet on your lap

There aren’t many things quite as comforting as being a cushion for a beloved pet. A cat adopting the croissant position on your lap, their C-shape both a clever defence against falling into the gap between your legs and their comfiest pose. A dog’s head on your thigh, maybe even a paw too as if to claim the land, comforting not only because you are The Chosen Lap but because the weight of another living being on your own living being offers the sweet gift of reciprocity; you are both loving and loved. Also, their warm furriness is just really lovely.

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Starting a new book

You have been waiting for the exact right moment — finishing a current book, being in the right mood, having a whole afternoon to yourself — and now it’s here. The unbridled giddiness that comes with starting a book you’ve been eagerly anticipating is a feeling we don’t get enough of (and certainly don’t encourage) as adults. There’s a child-like excitement in opening the first page, reading slowly and carefully, in a way you never seem to nearing the end of a book, and knowing you are about to enter a new world. The very definition of a small pleasure.

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Pruning houseplants

There aren’t any big issues, just a few crinkled fronds here, some old wispy growths there. You notice one morning and end up moving from plant to plant in your home, carefully snipping with the small pair of secateurs you bought in a random gift shop that time. You prod the soil with a finger to determine whether it needs more water. Then, a quick dust of the leaves and a repositioning of the plant so it gets what it needs: sun, shade, the best view in the house. You feel connected (and, undoubtedly, wholesome) as you tend to these living things.

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Sticking your head out the window

There’s a reason dogs love lolling their heads out of car windows; outside air, especially the kind that blows in faces and through hair, feels good. They can’t get enough of the stuff. We were all out there once, in the fresh breeze, in the open. Perhaps on a cellular level, gusts of fresh air, rather than stationary rooms of recycled, stifled air, make us humans feel at home. So, whether you’re in a moving vehicle or your living room, it’s a long afternoon or a morning ripe with potential, crack open a window, stick your head out, and take a big gulp.

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Staying in bed

It goes like this: fumble for the clock/watch/phone; squint so you can make out the numbers; compute that, unlike most days, they are not the numbers that demand you get out of bed but rather ones that mean you are awake a little too early; realise that you can stay in bed for another thirty minutes; actively savour this time in bed, under the duvet warmed by your body heat and the pillows squished just right, more than you ever have savoured any time in bed.

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Arriving at the bus stop at the exact right moment

It’s so perfect, it could be a choreographed pas de deux; you walking at your usual pace towards the bus stop, the bus pulling in at the right speed for you to take one more step and be greeted with the opening of its doors. No running, panting, checking a watch (its face a blur) as you run, bags banging into your side. Equally, no impatiently shifting of weight from one leg to the other as you stand and crane your neck for the bus that you swear should have been here by now.

B O O K S   F O R   W H E N E V E R

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Pandora's Jar — Natalie Haynes

 

In recent years, there’s been a resurgence of the retelling of Greek myths. Readers can’t get enough of the epics told in accessible ways (e.g., Stephen Fry’s Mythos) and from new perspectives (e.g., Madeleine Miller’s books, giving voices to characters often sidelined). In Pandora’s Jar, Natalie Haynes veers away from retelling legendary stories or writing new versions and instead analyses and challenges the depictions and outright omissions of many females written in lore (and thus seemingly, stone). From Pandora, who, despite all evidence pointing in other directions, is blamed for unleashing ills on the world, to Medusa, who is cursed, killed, and used by cowardly Perseus to fend off attackers and yet is widely considered to be an evil monster. Using logic, reason, and compassion, Haynes releases these women from the villainous (or, indeed, invisible) roles they’ve been exiled to and gives us the chance to see them, and the full picture, differently.