The Small Things Matter

In my portfolio conversation with Dr. Bory, I expressed frustration with this assignment. It’s so open ended, I was lost. My working theme, she said, could provide direction for my writing. After sharing my theme, she mentioned a book that could be of use–The Book of (More) Delights by Ross Gay. I purchased the book on Kindle and looked through some of the essays. Each essay presented a small experience from Gay’s life in a refreshingly positive light. The experiences, which would probably be thought of as inconsequential, all felt warm and entirely important. I thought about my own experiences–what in my life could make the cut as a “delight?”  

But I was missing the point. Gay’s delights were not warm because they were inherently extraordinary–they were normal (small) experiences that he found the beauty in. That, I think I can do. 

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On college nights, I often found myself hungry without much access to food on campus. A few nights ago, I encountered this situation. Fortunately, a dorm hall of growing humans usually contains several hungry people, so a hallmate with a car on campus agreed to drive to the Cookout Drive-thru on the condition that I join him. A few others threw in orders and we left. 

The air outside Richardson hall was cold, so we broke into a jog, and then a sprint across campus until we reached his car. It was after midnight so nobody was there to judge how stupid we looked sprinting past commons and across the field. 

As we neared Cookout, we scanned the town of Davidson for cops. My friend wasn’t speeding, but we looked nonetheless. As we pulled into the drive-thru, an overwhelming sense of freedom washed over me. I was riding in a car to buy food and then would return to campus to work until the early morning. There was something beautiful about that. I’m sure this is a feeling many college first-years get, or just adolescents, but it was delightful. 

And while this experience was probably not an exclusive one, it gave me meaning, however short lived. I can’t describe this feeling of purpose I got from driving to get greasy fast food on a weeknight. Writing it, it sounds so stupid, so trivial. But the beauty was there. 

And while this feeling faded, a bite of my burger revived it, however slightly. This, to me, is humanity: finding meaning and beauty in life, however small. 

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Something that I enjoy doing when in the presence of buildings (especially in my hometown of Washington D.C.) is categorizing columns. In sixth grade, during our ancient Greece unit, we learned about Greek architecture. Included in this study was a short lesson on columns: doric, ionic, and corinthian.

The columns could be differentiated by the degree of ornament present at base and at top. Doric columns had no personality. The tops were square or something; I didn’t pay much attention to them. Corinthian columns were highly ornamental, covered with stone flourishes and chiseled greenery. They were nice, but a bit gaudy, I thought. Ionic columns, however, were perfect. They were the goldilocks column–not too dull, not too decorative. Their characteristic stone spirals were wonderful to the eye. 

Since sixth grade, I always identify the columns I see in my head. I’m always a bit happier when I see those iconic (or ionic) stone curls. My younger sister, who attended the same school (which evidently kept the curriculum the same), will sometimes join me in my identification game. 

This is a small aspect of my life, and I don’t see columns that often. But when I do, my life feels just a little more meaningful. It is a delightful reminder of my childhood, of my fascination with ancient Greece and Greek mythology. 

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One of the most emotional delights that I encounter very infrequently is the smells of my past. Sometimes, as I move through the world, my nose will pick up a scent that instantly brings me back to another time, another place. It’s funny how smell is so closely linked to memory. 

This happened to me once in eighth grade. I remember it well. My class was walking down a sidewalk near our school when I was hit with the scent of a family friend’s house in Massachusetts. I hadn’t smelled it in years. My family tells me that their house smelled of mothballs, so perhaps that is what my nostrils were encountering. 

Regardless of the smell itself, it was delightful to be transported back in time so swiftly. I returned to my childhood in these few seconds. As life moves forward, memories fade. But smell has the ability to bring back vivid emotions that you would not otherwise experience again. 

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These three essays are little things that came into my mind while I was pondering this assignment. There are many more. Through these little things, I have been able to find meaning. It’s an outlook that I strive towards instead of negativity. Now, I’m going to finish The Book of (More) Delights and think more about what I have to appreciate. 

Works Cited

Gay, Ross. The Book of (More) Delights. Algonquin, 2023.