Make Space for Delight
Why I am no longer apologizing for it.
Delight and awe had played a crucial role in my most helpless hours, acting as breadcrumbs back to my foundation and values. Awe snapped me out of navel-gazing and languish. With each sunset walk, quiet moment under the stars, and time spent rapt in front of a painting, it was clear that my flavor of awe connected me with beauty and nature. Awe felt vital—as necessary as my SSRIs were in my postpartum depression days.
Life after burnout is nonlinear. On my best days, I have a solid sense of direction, self-trust, and boundaries around work/life. On my worst days, I second-guess my own internal experience. I am happy to report this is happening less and less now, but naturally, I am feeling a bit nervous about launching some of the projects I’ve been working on behind the scenes at Wit & Delight. On the worst of days, doubt likes to tell me how insignificant it is to dedicate your life’s work to the frivolity of designing a life that delights you.
Marinating in that guilt used to feel good. Like I was punishing myself for being bad in some way. Lately, I’ve noticed this guilt has taken on the distinct flavor of self-sabotage. I can no longer ignore what lights me up and pulls me to create, even if the truth of what that means terrifies me.
I was working through this with my coach, Claggie, a few weeks ago, explaining my newfound perspective on work—both its origin and how it has helped ground me during times of big change. My gut has been telling me delight isn’t some add-on frivolity. But I felt sheepish about putting my eggs in this basket. Is delight too soft and silly for a time when the world is in such disarray?
My experience said no. Delight and awe had played a crucial role in my most helpless hours, acting as breadcrumbs back to my foundation and values. Awe snapped me out of navel-gazing and languish. With each sunset walk, quiet moment under the stars, and time spent rapt in front of a painting, it was clear that my flavor of awe connected me with beauty and nature. Awe felt vital—as necessary as my SSRIs were in my postpartum depression days.