what to do with all this joy

When I ordered a pumpkin spice latte last week, the barista served me this work of art. Look at this festive little face! A whimsical and generous creative act. Later that day I was explaining to a Colombian friend, who moved here two years ago, how some Americans—myself included—associate “pumpkin spice” with the arrival of fall.

We laughed because, as she pointed out, autumn doesn’t actually smell like cinnamon or nutmeg. And of course these spices are available year-round. The same coffee shops that import beans from halfway around the world could certainly procure pumpkin spice sauce in the spring–but that would just feel wrong. (See? I’ve been brainwashed by Big Coffee!)

It’s funny how Americans insist on fabricating seasonality. It’s not enough that the days are getting shorter and the air colder; we need specially flavored drinks to help us remember that winter is coming. Any trip to Target or Home Goods makes it clear that there’s a giant industry around selling-and-buying seasonal wares–from throw pillows and hand towels to oversized lawn decorations and tiny figurines.

Once a friend of mine was describing how different she is from a prospective mother-in-law. “I mean–this woman decorates for the holidays” she told me with disgust. You’d think that my friend is a curmudgeon, but she in fact brings maximal whimsy, thoughtfulness, and exuberance wherever she goes. It’s just, she grew up growing vegetables and tending to chickens. The seasons to her are marked by chapters of planting and harvesting; feeding chicks and plucking feathers off a newly dead bird. A chill in the air doesn’t only bring about beautiful fall colors–it means there’s a chance of frost, and this has real-world implications. When we’re in touch with the natural world, we don’t feel the need to synthesize the changing of the seasons in our homes. When your kitchen counters are spilling over with winter squash from the garden, orange throw pillows become less of a priority.

One way to decorate your home for fall is to live with a toddler who insists on bringing autumn leaves home every day “for Dada.” Oak leaves, maple leaves, tulip tree leaves, catalpa–they all catch her eye and bring her right back to the innate gatherer. So, while we don’t have a vegetable garden at this time, our counters are spilling over with crinkly fall leaves. “Bee-yu-fuh yeafs” as Margot calls them.

Evolution has taught deciduous trees that holding on to flouncy leaves all winter would be more trouble than it’s worth. So, when a tree notices that days are getting shorter and the air colder, it tells enzymes in the leaves to break down the chlorophyl. Once the green pigment is gone, the ever-present yellow becomes visible, like stars hiding in the day but shining at night. The branches and twigs suck back in as many nutrients as they can before building a little layer of cells between the twig and leaf. In some species, the sugars that remain in the leaf produce red and purple pigments called anthocyanins, upping the anti and bringing even more vibrant color to the autumn woods. In other words, the warm hues of fall are the result of organic chemistry taking place at the cellular level. In other words, the world is full of magic.

While reveling in the prolific gold, copper, and crimson of mother nature’s witchcraft, I’ve also been noticing in myself a primal feeling of urgency to savor this season. It’s not just the squirrels who are frantically gleaning all they can before winter. Something about fall makes me acutely aware of the passing of time and the preciousness of each shortening day.

Throughout my life, the happiest chapters have left me asking, “what am I supposed to do with all this joy?” Since I was a kid, when things have been going well, this question has haunted me so much that it’s affected my ability to enjoy the present moment. This season is one of those times. It’s not just that it’s fall in New England–I also have two beautiful children, a loving husband, a cozy home, a good job, and more dear friends than I’m able to keep up with. Every afternoon I take a walk in the forest with my kids. Every night I make a simple dinner to nourish our family. Watching my four month old sleep in my arms, belly-laughing with my two year old at a game we just created, sharing a smile with Matt as we’re decoding Margot’s toddler-speak. Our kids fill my heart with deep joy—but I simultaneously feel pain, knowing that every moment is fleeting, as is this whole tender chapter. These are the good old days.

So, what to do with all this joy? The suffering taking place on Earth regularly moves me to tears. When I run out of breastmilk for Muriel and reach for the formula, I think of the women in Palestine who are still not able to do so, and the unimaginable tragedies of war and genocide. When I hug my brothers, I think of other family members and people around the world whose lives have been destroyed or cut short by drug use. When I see a person sleeping on the street, I think of our country’s many broken systems that are failing individuals and our society at large. When I read a biodiversity report listing the species who are gone forever, I think of humanity’s disgusting greed and blindness. (Deep breath.) I try to let the joy in our home, and the beauty of the natural world, center and ground me in this crazy world.

What to do with all this joy? Our family’s little life is not without its challenges. Parenting is a roller coaster; they’re called the terrible twos for a reason. Muriel’s open heart surgery looms in early 2026. We still haven’t figured out how to keep our house clean or pay our bills on time. Weeks pass when Matt and I are too busy to have a conversation about anything besides whether or not we remembered to put a tablespoon of prune juice in the baby’s bottle. Each night when I nod off to sleep, I try to let the happy moments bubble to the top of my consciousness, to charge my batteries for another day of busy life and work and mothering.

What to do with all this joy? Practically speaking: pay attention and document the days. Put down the phone, look into the eyes of the people I’m with, study the bark of the trees I’m with, marvel at the beauty of it all. Marvel at the countless blessed and random actions that have taken place to make this existence possible. If I’m willing to pick the phone up again, capture the sweet moments with photos, with videos, with notes jotted in my journal each night. It’s worth losing ten minutes of sleep. Let all of the sweet moments soak into me and become part of me.

What to do with all this joy? Maybe someday maybe even make some art.

What to do with all this joy? Maybe I don’t need to do anything at all. I used to work with a very wise and gentle Dutch woman in Peru. One of her favorite sayings was “we are human beings, not human doings.” I’ve heard this a couple of times since, so I realize this may not have been her original brilliance. But, regardless, it is brilliant. Maybe the best way to savor the good things in life is simply to be in the present moment.

Well—Margot is awake now, and so far I’ve held her over with a pear and an apple from yesterday’s farmer’s market. The sugar rush is about to hit and it’s time to make my family a proper breakfast.

However the hell we’re supposed to live and process this existence: I hope that today you have the chance to be fully present, and to find joy and wonder in the moment.