v. 55 The Wisdom My Mom Left Behind
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This weekly(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, share ideas, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
“That this life, as it is right now, is all we’ve got, and there’s already so much here.”
Yesterday would’ve been my mom’s 76th birthday, and I can almost hear her saying, “I told you so,” from wherever she is. Actually, that’s not fair. She wouldn’t say that. She’d instead start with, “I don’t want to say I told you so…” which, of course, is exactly the same thing.
Sorry, I digress. Onward.
My mom often said she needed very little to be happy. And while a lot of people say that, most of us don’t actually mean it. She did. She wasn’t saying it with resignation but with a kind of clarity that made it obvious she knew what was up. She didn’t have much materially, so for her, happiness lived in a pot of chicken soup with matzo balls simmering on the stove, in the sound of all her grown kids back home for a holiday, in the comfort of a day that felt steady and alive. That was her version of abundance.
I, on the other hand, would side-eye her. Every time. Because obviously I knew better. Everyone knows happiness comes with more. More achievement. More space. More money. More clothes. Definitely more shoes. More everything. I was sure happiness could be collected like frequent flyer miles if I just worked hard enough or bought the right things.
But “more” never lasts, and it never saves us when the world starts to look like a funhouse mirror, distorted and exaggerated and impossible to trust. And it does right now. Life has gotten harder, the world feels heavy, and somewhere in the middle of all that, I’ve started to re-remember what my mom always knew. That this life, as it is right now, is all we’ve got, and there’s already so much here. Friends who laugh too loudly and stay too late. Ira, who knew me before I knew myself, and somehow keeps loving me through all the versions I’ve been. A home filled with delight that makes me smile just by living in it. And yes, I mean smile in the slightly creepy way, standing alone in the house and grinning at our glass cabinet of curiosities. Laughter with my brothers that brings me to tears in the best possible way. Books stacked on the floor because the shelves gave up years ago. And the rare gift of a career shaped entirely by being myself. These are Microjoys, the not-always-small, ordinary moments that remind me again and again that what I have is already enough.
That lesson, and so many others, didn’t land once and stay forever. That’s not how lessons work. We learn them, then we forget, then we remember, then we forget again, and then we learn all over. Each time the lesson circles back, it reaches a little deeper. Each time, it changes us.
On my mom’s birthday, I think about all the years I side-eyed her wisdom and dismissed it as a simple way of looking at the world. I thought I was right. I thought I knew more than she did. But of course she knew something then that I’m still learning to live now.
Joy isn’t waiting in the next thing, the next achievement, or the next possession. It’s here already, in the enoughness of this very moment.
And today, more than ever, I’m listening.
Every essay features a section called “One Fine Microjoy” – an experience, place, or thing that brings me joy, grace, and hope amidst life’s ups and downs. I hope it invites you to recognize and appreciate the delights that ground, inspire, and enrich our journey.
This week’s microjoy: A day of events and friendship in NYC, which will always be my home. The honking, the chaos, the way the city insists on moving faster than necessary; it’s obnoxious in the most comforting way. The streets are loud, the people are louder, and somehow it feels like belonging. I need a nervous system reset after spending a full day back in the city but there’s still nothing like it. Being here feels like coming home to the most unruly, exhausting, and familiar version of myself. A microjoy wrapped inside the noise. Obnoxious and chaotic, but home all the same.
P.S. Per usual, if this resonated with you- repost, comment, share and spread the word.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
Want to support Life, Created?
🥰 ENGAGE: Share your thoughts in a comment below #BecauseCommunity
🙏🏽 SPREAD THE WORD: forward it to your fave people. (Sign up here to get Life, Created delivered right to your. inbox.)
🧡 FOLLOW: over on Instagram and LinkedIn, too.
🗣️ HIRE ME: When you (or a colleague) are looking for an amazing speaker for your next conference, gathering or event, I’d love for you to consider booking me. Here’s more info.
