![]() And then, as if on cue, a woman walked past with a cup of coffee. ![]() Not for the first time in reading The Book of Delights, I found myself crying. What if we joined our sorrows, I’m saying. The essay ends with the idea that maybe, by joining our wildernesses of sorrow, we can find something like joy:Īnd if it is-and if we join them-your wild to mine-what’s that?įor joining, too, is a kind of annihilation. Everyone, regardless, always of everything. It astonishes me sometimes-no, often-how every person I get to know-everyone, regardless of everything, by which I mean everything-lives with some profound personal sorrow. ![]() ![]() As cherry blossom petals fell around me and onto the pages of the book, I came across this passage in one of its essays, “‘Joy Is Such a Human Madness’” One cool, April day, seven years almost to the day after my father’s suicide, I sat outside a coffee shop reading Ross Gay’s The Book of Delights. ![]()
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