Why Delighting Matters

On motherhood, productivity, and a list that nobody is grading...

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You know how some words just get in your brain and bounce around in there forever? For me it’s been the same two since I was a little girl: light and delight. Which, I guess, makes sense.

I find light fascinating, just the concept of it, really. When there’s even the teensiest bit of light, you can see. That’s all it takes. Light changes everything. Light gives hope, light reflects, light heals, light is a fresh start. I love it. I pray it over my kids every single morning, “Lord, let ___ be a…” and they yell “LIGHT!” and there is something just so lovely about that.

And then there’s delight, which I think is just the next part of it. Because what’s the good of being able to see if you never stop to look? Light is being able to see. Delight is actually choosing to look.

There’s a calmness in that word, too. Delight doesn’t ask you to do anything, it just wants you to sit back and enjoy. Take it in, wonder, laugh, feel. All it wants is your attention, which sounds like a very small ask until you remember that attention is the one thing I never have lying around. Because you can’t delight in something while you’re multitasking… it feels impossible. Delight needs time, it needs low cortisol, it needs intention.

I am firmly a Type B+ mom. Type B+ person, honestly. I can find the time to bake homemade banana bread muffins and put together a pretty hand tied bouquet, but the house will be an absolute disaster. I can get every single load of laundry done without one sock left behind and have truly no idea what we’re eating for dinner. I fixate, I create, I tackle, I power through. Which is maybe a superpower and also like… not super necessary? You know?

Because my love language is productivity. I feel happiest and proudest of myself when I’ve done more than most people would have, but admittedly it is not my favorite trait of mine. And if the day has gone sideways, if everyone wanted to buckle themselves in the carseat with little slippery fingers and someone needed different shoes because the first ones felt all wrong and everything took longer than I thought it should and quite literally nothing got done, I’ll rush us through bedtime just so I can have one quiet minute to finish something on a list that nobody is grading.

And then at night I’ll lie there and beat myself up. I missed it. I could have laughed at the chubby fingers fumbling the buckle. I could have giggled that only the hot pink shoes would do.

Are some days downright defeating and arguably insane? Absolutely. But when I notice I’ve fallen into a cycle of favoring productivity over delight, I know it’s time to course correct and be gentler with myself. If I’m rocking a snuggly toddler while mentally reviewing everything I didn’t get done, I’ve lost the plot. Choosing to be proud of my productivity and not the times I chose to delight is a missed opportunity.

I’ve built a lot of my life around this idea. Always looking for these moments, finding something special in things that seem perfectly ordinary, making a big deal out of things that aren’t traditionally a big deal. And I think it’s because I strive for light, I strive for delight. It doesn’t come easily to me either. To-do lists and productivity, those are a walk in the park. Delight is the thing I have to choose, which is exactly why I’ve doubled down on it.

Delighting is living a life that’s thoughtful. A life where you can see, even just a little bit, in the dark.

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This morning my oldest, already buckled in the car and ready to go, decided he needed to run back inside and hug his sister. He was worried she’d be sad if he didn’t. We were already late.

I unbuckled him. He ran through the foyer to find her. And I leaned on the doorframe and thought: well, this is delightful.

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Thanks for being here. xx Ashley