Y’all. I’m so excited for our first historical joy! In all its disgusting glory.

Ritual breakdown:

If you’ve never heard of aspic, you are hardly alone. The most technical definition is that it is a savory gelatin mold made with meat, vegetables, and stock.

The actual definition is that it is a quivering mound of meat flavored jello eaten on crackers, and I’m really sorry if you just threw up in your mouth a little.

The origins of aspic are clear enough (that pun was accidental, but I’m leaving it) — it’s what we used to do with leftovers. My mother-in-law used to make this thing called leftover stew, and it was just as gross.

However, the fact is, food waste is a HUGE problem. We no longer work to use all of the parts of our food, which leads to not only waste but also, perhaps paradoxically, overconsumption.

In the United States alone, we throw away more than 80 billion pounds of food a year. That is 40% of our annual food supply, and if that doesn’t make you queasy, nothing will. Especially when you also consider that more than 35 million people struggled with hunger or food insecurity in 2019.

That’s not just bad math. This is a colossal failure on every level.

How to fit in more of this:

So, what does that have to do with aspic?

At its core, aspic is about consciously using what we have.

I’m not suggesting you go out and make meat jello, because I’m certainly not fucking going to. But I am evaluating the food that I cleaned out of my refrigerator yesterday, making way for the massive amount of food being delivered to my door today in preparation for the holiday.

And that’s still more consumption. Consumption of fuel, paper and plastic, and that’s not even covering the materials or potable water used for manufacture, which is a whole other conversation.

Especially because tomorrow, many of us will be preparing giant birds for smaller crowds than normal. This means that using what we have leftover is going to be even more important.

Personal Notes:

Yesterday on Ask Briar, I spoke with the amazing Alison Tedford about decolonizing Thanksgiving. And when we talk about decolonizing something, it’s not just about telling the story correctly. We also have to attempt to make reparations.

For hundreds of years, we’ve lied about the origins of the day, and the meaning of the celebration.

But it’s more insidious than that.

Because what we’ve created is antithetical to the people who we have harmed.

Most indigenous cultures have a symbiotic relationship with the land. They maintain the very thing that gives them sustenance.

And yet here we are, 200 years later. Thanksgiving is a holiday about consumption, preceding a weekend filled with the worst kind of consumerism, and an overwhelming glut of questionable decisions.

So when I say reparations, what I mean is learning how to consume less. Making conscious choices about what you buy, how you care for it, and most importantly, what happens to that item in the next cycle.

Because that cycle is everything.

Final Thoughts:

Our culture places an inordinate amount of emphasis on beginnings. “It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life, and I’m feeling good,” we say, but…what happened to the old one?

What if we placed less emphasis on the new?

What if we spent more time honoring the old, and what we leave behind?

What if we allowed ourselves to feel the guilt, regret, loss, and shame that we are moving beyond? What then?

We’ve come to think of these things as emotions to let go of. That because they make us feel bad, that we shouldn’t feel them anymore.

But there is extraordinary power in sitting with our shame.

Because it is here that we learn about ourselves.

It is here that we decide to change.

2020 has been an unforgettable year. One for the history books. But this time, as you prepare for the new year, I ask you to consider what you will be taking with you into 2021, and what you are leaving behind.

What’s left is going to be an unholy mess. A tangle of emotions, unfinished projects, and derailed dreams. It’s incredibly tempting to leave all that shit where it lay, and move on to what’s new and has the most potential.

But I encourage you to go over it one last time. Because there’s probably a wobbly meat jello in there somewhere.

Ritual breakdown:

It turns out that enjoying new music is a practice that specifically has to be cultivated.

Research indicates that when it comes to musical appreciation, time makes fools of us all. As we age, we lose the ability to process complex harmonies, and grow to prefer dissonance over consonance. (There’s gonna be a whole generation of old people blaring Nine Inch Nails, just you wait.)

That’s because, at its most basic, music is math. It’s a series of equations that your brain either finds pleasing or displeasing.

There’s a reason that you hate Nickelback but Canada considers them a national treasure (and the amount of airtime they get is only a part of the equation).

For your brain, listening to a new song is like solving a math problem.

We have to sit with a song, and allow it to seep into our memory. We have to process its harmonies as equations, and make the determination that we like the answer.

Frequency DOES help, but those answers also tend to be cultural, regional, generational — if you fit into a specific group, chances are good it has some inherent musical preferences.

And the older we get, the harder making the distinctions becomes.

That’s why you have to make it a deliberate practice.

Or someday, you too will be yelling about how there’s nothing but crap on the radio these days, and we all need to TURN IT DOWN.

So, let’s avoid that, shall we?

How to fit in more of this:

Since it’s math, you can allow the math to work in your favor. Start by utilizing the existing algorithms. Spotify and Pandora make listening to new artists easy, and the more you use the service, the more it’s going to give you songs you’re likely to enjoy. After all, the more you use the service, the more they profit, so it’s to their advantage to make good suggestions.

However. This massively depersonalizes what is, in so many ways, a communal experience.

Music is something we share together.

Its fandoms create communites that one can identify into by mere virtue of being a fan. And while outsiders may not consider them supportive, in many cases, these subgroups can almost become familial. (More on that in #93: Join a fandom.)

But even if you don’t join a fandom, you should still consider the communal experience of music. Ask friends and family for recommendations.

When live music is a thing again, seek out more of it in the ways you find most meaningful.

Like everything we value, if we want to experience it, we must deliberately work it in.

Personal Notes:

I recently discovered an electro-swing band called Caravan Palace that I’m head over heels in love with, and it’s because of a perfect marriage between the algorithm and the communal experience. My daughter found them first, but didn’t tell anyone. However, she listened enough that they found their way onto Spotify’s family list, which my husband listened to, and then subsequently mentioned them to me.

Then I listened to all their albums in one sitting, and added at least 15 new songs to my favorites.

For me, new music is a deliberate event. I’d prefer to sit and listen to a whole album at once, and process all those new songs at the same time. I find that listening to an album is like reading a series of books. If it’s done right, it becomes an entire sensory experience.

Final Thoughts:

For many of us, sound is one of our most dominant senses. The ability to process our world through sound is an incredible gift, and like everything else, cultivating it is a deliberate practice.

Because while music is constantly changing and evolving, our taste for it won’t, unless we choose to expand our horizons.

This was originally a different number, but it’s my list, and I’ve had most of a week to play with it, so I do what I want. (I will say that if you aren’t sure of the reason for this change, this may not be your joy.)

Ritual breakdown:

Because…there’s something about reading sci-fi and fantasy, isn’t there?

It’s a different kind of escape.

The joy of fantasy is that while it has all the elements of the life you know, it contains virtually none of the realities. Either the timeline is different, or the material reality is, and it creates a true diversion for your brain. You can fully immerse yourself in this other world, and count yourself grateful that it’s not the one you currently inhabit.

And in fact, that’s typically what we love about it so much. Harry Potter is amazing because of Hogwarts and Hermione, sure, but you know the very best part about it? You aren’t Harry. It’s a relief not to be the Boy Who Lived, the lamb for slaughter, the kid with so much loss it’s palpable. And that makes your terrible life so much easier to cope with.

But, sometimes it can be hard to find time for fantasy.

We feel vaguely guilty, because shouldn’t we be reading a business book, or self-help, or something?

How to fit in more of this:

My favorite trick for getting in more reading is to remove Facebook from my phone and put the Kindle app directly in its place. That way, when I try to go to FB by rote memory, I open a book instead.

I also started reading fiction in the mornings. There are lots of daylight hours for learning. My mornings are my time to escape for a while before I do my day. I’m always so much happier when I’ve got a great book waiting for me in the morning.

And that’s the most important part of reading more often.

Cultivate your reading lists.

Add to your TBR pile.

Make reading amazing stories more accessible, and you’ll find the time.

Personal Notes:

Some of my favorites: Douglas Adams, Jacqueline Carey, NK Jemisin, Blake Crouch, AG Riddle, Robin Hobb, VE Schwab (using your initials doesn’t necessarily make you good, just FYI).

I also have ridiculous “rules” that I apply to reading that make me happy. Feel free to make your own.

• No unfinished series. I created this rule when Alice Borchardt tragically died in the middle of her series about Guinevere, and there are untold authors just proving me right these days. Martin, Rothfuss, etc. Unless you’re okay with incomplete stories, wait until they’re actually all written.
• Watch the movie first. It’s always worse, so the book will only ever be an improvement.
• Unless it’s a series, I don’t read two in a row by the same author.
• I no longer finish books that don’t keep my interest. If I’m not sold by page 30, I’m out.

Final Thoughts:

A while back, I did some math (and my math is always bad, but even so, it was sobering math). I average about 50 books a year. That’s a little less than a book a week. Goodreads tells me so.

If I look at the average lifespan of the women in my family, I have approximately 3,000 books left in my lifetime to read. If I take the lifespan of an average American woman, it’s a little more than 2,000. That’s not that many. There are some really important books I haven’t read yet that I still want to read.

But not so badly that I’ll force myself to read a book that I don’t enjoy. That’s just not worth my time anymore.

Now, tell me who your favorite sci-fi and fantasy authors are, because I can always take a few more good books.

Hey. You. Over there. Do you know what brings you joy?

I’m honestly asking.

Do you know how to find joy at a moment’s notice? (Especially on a day like today.)

Do you consciously build it into your daily rhythms?

Because I think you might be missing out on something.

One of the plagues of the modern self-help movement is that it approaches caring for ourselves like a list of tasks to check off. We’ve stopped looking at how our individual behaviors affect our lives, and instead, made self-care an obligation.

We make fun of these lists and the sentiments that accompany them. Because a bubble bath doesn’t fix systemic injustice. And we instinctively know it.

But, while we might know that on a conscious level, we’ve also stopped thinking about the things that DO truly make us feel cared for, or figuring out ways of incorporating those things into our lives.

Basically, we’ve been trying to outsource our joy.

I don’t know if it’s the pandemic, or the state of our planet, or maybe just the state of our policing and politics. Whatever it is, there’s an oppressive weight that we all feel, and it’s causing us to retreat to helplessness.

We’ve become accustomed to feeling sad, angry, jealous, resentful, and because we have no outlet for these feelings, we aren’t releasing them from our psyches.

But like anything else, joy is a conscious practice. We have to choose to seek out the things that bring us joy, and we have to choose what that looks like in our daily lives. Consciously.

For the majority of this year, I’ve been having incredibly detailed conversations with my clients, past and present. I’ve been trying to tease out the threads of what it is that I do, and how I can do it better.

When you serve people in unusual ways, it’s especially important to get regular feedback, so that you can use that information to shape your products and services. In this way, service becomes more than a product — it becomes a mission.

These conversations have given life to something new, and I can’t wait to share it with you. It’s like my quarantine sourdough starter, but it’s not quite finished maturing yet. It still needs to be fed a couple of times before it’s ready to bake with.

I can tell you what I’ve figured out though.

Y’all suck at knowing what makes you happy.

More than anything else, the idea of deliberately crafting routines that bring you joy is the place where my people are getting stuck.

The question, “what would make you happy?” is frequently met with a blank stare, because…you don’t actually know.

You’re so starved for joy that it could beat you over the head with a very large stick, and you still wouldn’t know what hit you.

You have this sense that you SHOULD be feeling better about things, and that you KNOW it’s out there, but the “it” is too elusive to be found.

I mean, I get that.

I spent years reading about other people’s routines and rituals, just trying to figure out what makes for a good life.

After my son died, I became obsessed with hacking my routines, because I thought that if I could map out the good life on paper, I’d be able to find my way out of grief.

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work that way.

I tried so many systems. Bought courses. Read books by the dozens. Auditioned personal gurus. I was trying to find the foundations of what made life worth living, because mine was pretty bleak.

Some of the threads are common, but each approach is wildly different in how it is built or constructed. And it is rarely treated as a suggestion or framework; rather, it is The Way. And if you don’t buy-in, you just aren’t working hard enough.

But I had nearly died, so hard work? Not really part of the equation.

The truth is, joy is ALWAYS personal.

The things that light us up are unique.

There’s this delightful recipe of habits, traditions, and foundations that only YOU can create, that bakes into this lovely life that you can’t wait to live.

Some people have to have their daily meditation. Coffee is practically a religion for others. In the opposite corner, I can think of a bunch of artists who couldn’t live without their daily coke habit. As they say, different strokes for different folks.

And that’s the whole fucking point.

You aren’t supposed to find joy in other people’s routines.

You’re supposed to figure out what is uniquely yours. What specifically lights you up, and brings you joy.

I like potted lavender, the smell of books, fresh colored pencils, and the sound of puppies running (and thudding) on hardwood floors.

I love watching the sun reflect off the First National Bank as it rises, and watching the lights shut off at midnight. (They aren’t on a timer. Whoever turns them off never does it the same way twice. This tickles me, and I stay up past my bedtime a couple of times a month just to see how the lights are gonna turn off tonight. I still haven’t figured out when they turn on — more investigation is required.)

I love spending Sundays with snacks, football, and stickers for my planner. I buy myself new washi tape every time I land a new client or complete a project (I own an embarrassing amount of washi).

I love the smell after it rains less than I love the word petrichor. I also love the Oxford comma.

I deliberately integrate these things into my life, every single day.

It’s not perfect, but that’s amazing too. I love that I get to build my life exactly as I want it, one brick at a time.

And I want you to have the same thing too.

So, I started making a list. (Well, spreadsheet — because that’s my answer to everything, obviously.)

What brings people joy?

What ACTUALLY makes for good self-care?

What’s necessary? What’s not?

And perhaps most importantly, how do you overcome the obstacles to that joy?

I have been gathering up the things that you love, and that people throughout history have loved. I wanted something immersive so that you could pick and choose, like a menu full of joy.

But…I’m not done yet.

And as the list grows well past 300 entries, it’s no longer immersive. It’s straight-up unwieldy.

It’s not a list anymore. It’s more like an encyclopedia.

Which puts us right back where we started, because most of us probably aren’t sitting down to read The Encyclopedia of Joy. I mean, I would, but I also read the dictionary, which clearly means that I can’t be trusted.

So, all of this is an exceptionally long-winded way of introducing The Ritual of the Day.

Starting this week, I’m going to bring you a new ritual or habit or practice or tradition six days of the week. (Because that football and planning day is sacred.)

They won’t be long, because, again, that’s the whole fucking point.

I want you to be able to look at this habit or practice, and know within a couple of seconds if it’s right for you. I want you to be able to say, “no that’s not for me,” and move on with your day.

Conversely, I also want you to be able to say, “OMG yes, I need this in my life right this instant.” Because if that’s the case, you can start figuring out how to integrate it.

You can build it in slowly, one piece at a time, in a way that feels sustainable.

So that you can build a life that is filled with all kinds of joy.

Today is a big day. I spent the last few hours standing in line with all my children to vote. I can think of it as a chore. There may have been a screaming three year old involved. A full-on tantrum that required us to change the plans some. It could have been just something else to pack into my day, a day full of obligations I didn’t consent to.

I’m honestly uncertain about the outcome of this election, and I know that no matter who wins, I now live in a country where the results are no longer guaranteed to be honored. I live in a country that is preparing for riots, and is right to do so.

It’s easy to choose fear. Uncertainty is the highlight of this day, and it would be easy to give in.

Or, I can choose to have an adventure. We packed snacks, things to do, stuff for my anxiety. We took a lovely little walk, got some exercise, had a fun lesson for my children about civic rights and responsibilities, and appropriate behavior in the polling place. They gave me a little sticker that I put in my planner, so basically, that’ll be the highlight of my day. And when we were done, we stopped in the park and ate lunch, and watched the leaves fall. It could have been worse.

Later this afternoon, I’ll be going live to answer questions about feeling hopeful. I might do some work (or I might take a nap), play outside more with my children, eat a meatloaf that I don’t have to cook, and then, settle in for a long night. I know that I am not in control of what happens next, and all I can do is bear witness.

And yet, I am hopeful.

Because no matter what happens, I get to choose. “For every minute you remain angry, you give up sixty seconds of peace of mind.”

I’ve lost a lot of peace of mind already. I’ve surrendered a lot of joy to things that I don’t have to feel. I don’t wanna lose any more.

I hope you will join me.

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