The Joy of the Unexpected

When I was little, I would list dozens of toys on my Christmas List for Santa (who also seemed to share it with my aunts, uncles, and grandparents). There was pleasure in unwrapping one of those longed-for toys next to the tree on Christmas day, but it couldn't compare to the joy of opening a box to find a surprise gift, unasked-for and unexpected but perfect nonetheless. One year it was a little stuffed raccoon, football-shaped head perched atop a beanbag body. The raccoon stayed with me through college and beyond; the rest of the toys have been long forgotten.

I have thousands of my "favorite" songs at my fingertips on an iPod, and I can access almost the entirety of recorded music in an instant via my phone, but I still listen to the radio in my car and feel a moment of joy when one of my favorites is played. It is like running into an old friend on the street when running errands; of course you can call or text them whenever you'd like, but the serendipitous encounter adds an element of excitement to the usual pleasure of the familiar.

Bounding deer dead center.

On a recent visit to the South Sycamore Bottoms one still, silent afternoon, the calm was broken by rustling brush, followed by the tawny blur of a deer bounding along the edge of the pond. There was such joy in seeing the deer just doing deer things, unencumbered by the usual apprehension that accompanies the sight of them crossing roads or wandering closer to neighborhoods in town.

I've felt the same joy finding a tiny turtle the size of a half-dollar on the Greenway trail, or seeing a shooting star in the inky pre-dawn sky. There is pleasure in seeing a thousand gray-headed coneflowers blooming in August, but there is joy in finding those one or two eccentric individuals that put off their blooming until late October, long after their comrades have set seed and faded into the background. Or the setting sun catching the cattails just right such that they glow golden for just a few minutes before fading again in the waning light.

Crystalline dandelion.

Walking on a trail like the Sycamore Greenway regularly is a pleasure, no doubt. You get to know each turn; where the Illinois Bundleflower grows and where to watch for the patches of Joe-pye weed. You know those dull stretches that seem to have nothing but Queen Anne's Lace and Yellow Sweet Clover. But there is always the chance that you will see something unexpected and ephemeral: a common yellowthroat singing briefly on a reed before disappearing, or a pair of Sandhill cranes flying overhead with their raucous calls. Be on the lookout, for moments of joy are all around.