Joy Over Pleasure

Posted on May 16, 2013 by zoeweil
beaver swimming

One of the beavers swimming by.
Image copyright Edwin Barkdoll.

Pleasure is so seductive, so desirable. Even the word itself is somewhat onomatopoeic. Who would eschew pleasure?

Virtually all of us, at least some of the time.

We may say no to pleasures that carry a heavy price, such as gambling or unprotected sex. We may forego the pleasure of foods that are produced through cruelty to animals, or reject certain forms of entertainment, such as cruise ships, that come at the expense of the environment.

But most of us still seek out pleasure, often as a reward for our hard work, our completion of chores, and for many of us, our activism. And there’s nothing wrong with doing so.

But what we sometimes forget is that the time we lavish on pursuing pleasure might sometimes be better spent pursuing joy.

What’s the difference between pleasure and joy?

Pleasure is time-bound and fleeting; joy suffuses our whole being and often becomes integrated into our personality, accessible even in challenging times. Pleasure is often the direct result of sensory stimulation; joy may well from the inside out. Pleasure often comes without any connection to others (for example, when watching a favorite TV show); joy often carries a deep connection not only with other people, but with other species and the earth itself. Pleasure doesn’t usually lead to a desire to give, but joy often inspires generosity and acts of goodness.

Recently, I made a conscious decision to pursue joy over pleasure.

mosquito larvae

We saw thousands of mosquito larvae.
Image copyright Edwin Barkdoll.

My husband and I had worked most of the weekend cleaning up after a leak in our basement created a big mess. We were both tired by Sunday afternoon and would have been happy to pursue a bit of pleasure by taking a short walk with the dogs, eating a good dinner and watching a movie on Netflix. Instead, we chose to pursue joy. We headed to the wilderness—land nearby called Otter Bog—where we go to experience the mysterious, amazing, ever-changing natural world. It was a glorious, sunny late afternoon, and the Lyrid meteor shower would be peaking early the next morning.

After a hike with the dogs, we sat at the bog, which surrounds a 13-acre pond, to wait for the beavers who usually arrive at dusk. Sure enough, two huge beavers were gnawing on sticks (as we ate sandwiches for dinner) before entering the water to glide by (see the photo above). We watched a pair of Bufflehead ducks and saw a Bald Eagle and an osprey. We were serenaded by the sounds of tiny frogs called Spring Peepers. Their peeps beckoned, and we decided to visit them. When we got to their boggy patch of reeds and water, the noise was deafening (watch this video). When our ears couldn’t endure the sound any longer, we continued to “Sometimes Pond,” a meadow gradually turning into a pond from beavers’ creating several dams along the stream that flows through it. We got to see those beavers, too, though barely, because by now it was dark.

salamander egg cases

salamander egg cases
Image copyright Edwin Barkdoll.

Our next destination was a vernal pool deep in the woods to see salamander eggs. Earlier in the week there were no egg cases, but there had been a warm, rainy evening a few nights later, and we felt confident there would be a few. What we didn’t expect was to see swarms of squirming mosquito larvae (see photo), thousands upon thousands of them. We discovered some salamander egg cases, too, gelatinous white globs that look like eyes (see photo). We were relieved to know that when they hatched, the salamander larvae would feast on the mosquito larvae.

We trekked back and slid into our sleeping bags. The alarm would be going off at 3:45 a.m., because I was intent upon watching the meteor showers. Later, as dawn broke, I was greeted by three kinds of warblers and watched a Hooded Merganser land on the pond. The beavers came by for a morning visit, too, before we left to go to work.

And while I slept little and fitfully, and shivered in the 25-degree morning for several hours, this was joy.

Such joy (coupled with wonder, reverence and awe) makes my commitment to work to protect this beautiful planet ever more fierce, which is why I bothered to write this long post. Without fierce commitment, we may be left only with this: a pursuit of pleasure that often comes—albeit unintentionally—at the expense of the natural world that sustains us all.

Our children are growing up with fewer and fewer opportunities to experience joy and wonder in their ultimate home—the earth—and more and more indulgences of pleasure (usually in the form of screen time) in what we call home: the buildings in which we reside. Without a connection to their ultimate home, and without experiencing the joy that comes from that connection, our children may grow up unwilling and unable to take the necessary steps to ensure that our planet remains healthy, and that other species thrive despite an ever-growing population of pleasure-seeking humans.

My message for today? Now and then, consider choosing joy over pleasure. Feed your fierce commitment to protecting life: yours and the generations of all species to follow.

~ Zoe

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm; Above All, Be Kind; and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDxDirigo talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach“
My TEDxConejo talk: “Solutionaries”
My TEDxYouth@CEHS “How to Be a Solutionary”

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Joy and Wonder at the Detroit Airport

Posted on December 10, 2012 by zoeweil
Image courtesy random letters via Creative Commons.

I travel on average about a week each month for work, which means I spend a lot of time in airports. Travel has become more and more challenging and unpleasant (crowded planes and tighter seats, delays, hours spent on runways, meager food service even on long trips, etc.), but the airports themselves have become more and more pleasant and accommodating. LaGuardia has a huge salad bar with lots of options for vegans like me; chair massage spas are popping up all over; and free wifi and charging stations are expanding, making it possible to work during layovers and not have my computer run out of battery power.

It’s because of these changes that I don’t mind long layovers. They’re less stressful than short layovers, during which I’m too often running a mile through a terminal with my backpack on and my wheeled suitcase behind me saying, “Excuse me! Excuse me!” as I race to make a tight connection.

Recently, I had a long layover at the Detroit Airport, which is my favorite airport in the U.S. Why? Because of two artistic additions. In the atrium in the very middle of the airport there is a fountain that I could stare at for hours. The plumes of water are like dancers, beautifully and surprisingly choreographed. But it is the tunnel connecting Terminal A to Terminals B and C that often fills me with joy and wonder. Joy and wonder? In an airport?!

As one descends the long escalator to the tunnel, one is greeted by a music and light show. The translucent walls of the tunnel are designed to look like a cross between a seascape, a mountainscape, and a cloudscape, and behind the walls are ever-changing lights in a rainbow of colors. Choreographed to the music, the lights illuminate the walls and ceiling, undulating, moving, dancing. It is a gorgeous work of art.

So when I am not in a rush, I stand still on the moving walkway and just watch. And no matter how far I have traveled, how long or arduous the journey, or whether I have spent a night in an airport hotel because I’ve missed a connection somewhere, I always smile.

I’m aware that the tunnel may be using more electricity than if it were simply lit with fluorescent lights. I’m aware that such extra use of energy takes its toll; but I appreciate that the planners of this airport thought to bring art into our experience, and that this art makes a world of difference.

Yes, I experience joy and wonder in the Detroit airport. Imagine that.

~ Zoe

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDxConejo talk: “Solutionaries”
My TEDxDirigo talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach“
My TEDxYouth@BFS “Educating for Freedom”

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On Turning 50: Letting Go of Demons & Focusing on Creating a Better World

Posted on July 20, 2011 by zoeweil

I turned 50 last week. I’m more fit than at 20, and much happier too. My life feels meaningful and purposeful, and the dominant emotion I experience when I attend to my life is gratitude. But there are still some demons that haunt me, and they don’t abate. I’ve tried to keep them at bay for decades and all my efforts simply keep them from gaining much more traction. I haven’t cast them out.

The biggest one is the “Things aren’t the way I want them to be and they should be different” demon. This is an easy demon to cast out when the thing I want to be different is something I have control over. But when it’s another person’s behavior – especially someone close to me – and I have no control, but still perseverate on their failures to be different, I create suffering: suffering for me certainly, but also suffering for them.

The next biggest demon is worry. I worry a lot. I can catastrophize in a nanosecond. I worry about so many things: family members, of course, but also whether I’ll make a connecting flight; whether I offended someone with something I said; whether we’ll hit peak oil before we have alternative clean fuels; whether we’ll have honey bees in a decade and who will pollinate if we don’t; whether so many species will disappear that a cascade of extinctions will threaten everything we know; whether the twinges I feel in my leg will turn back into debilitating sciatica. You get the picture.

Yet worrying serves no purpose at all.

It might seem that these two demons might be motivators for my changemaking work, but they aren’t. If anything they are impediments. What motivates me to devote my days to my work at the Institute for Humane Education and to creating a generation of solutionaries able to solve global challenges is vision, hope, and love — not worry and frustration that things aren’t the way I want.

In reaching the half-century mark, my goal is to practice letting go of these tenacious demons that have glommed onto me. And I know that this is no easy task. It’s going to require all my own tenacity to refuse to indulge these demons, to prevent them from continuing to forge grooves and pathways in my brain that become ever more entrenched, to divert initial worry and frustration into a new groove of acceptance.

By acceptance I do not mean that I will not seek to create change, but rather to choose where and how to influence and help so that I am more successful, joyful, effective and loving in the process.

That’s my goal for the next 50 years, and I realize that it will take discipline and daily practice to achieve it.

Wish me luck.

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Above All, Be Kind, and The Power and Promise of Humane Education
My TEDx talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach“

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Joy in Observation & the Right Attitude

Posted on March 11, 2011 by zoeweil

A foot of powdery snow fell on a recent Friday, so early the next morning I put my x-country skis in my car and drove 20 miles to Mount Desert Island to ski on the carriage roads in Acadia National Park. I noticed that the thick snow-covered trees at home gave way to sparkling, ice-covered branches on the island, but it was so beautiful I didn’t pause to think what this might mean for the trails.

When I began the 14-mile loop around several mountains, the snow was not nearly as deep as at home and had a thick layer of crunchy ice, with a bit of powder on top. The ice wasn’t thick enough to ski atop, rather each glide ended with a thump as my weight (all 96 pounds of it) caused the crust to break. It was a slog, but I suspected that the volunteer trail groomer would be out soon. Or some other skiers coming from the other direction would have broken some trail, too. I plowed on.

Despite the hard work, it was breathtaking. The evergreens were weighed down with thick, crusty snow and the tips of the needles shone with teardrop-shaped icicles. The deciduous trees were sparkling in the sunlight, all lit up by a coating of ice. I followed a coyote’s tracks for a couple of miles and then a fox track, which converged with the coyote’s. There were rabbit tracks, mouse tracks, and squirrel tracks, too, all made within a few hours. Perhaps some of these animals were watching me. I was so noisy with my skis and poles crunching the ice that they certainly could hear me coming, but perhaps they observed me, as I observed their tracks. For about 1/4 mile, I skied alongside a human’s footprints accompanied by a dog. It was interesting to compare the dog prints to the coyote and fox prints, the wild canines’ so different from their domesticated cousin’s.

Then I noticed another kind of print in the snow, random and patternless. It took me a little while to figure out where they came from. They were leaf prints from the oak and beech leaves that had been clinging to the trees since last fall, finally released by the stormy winds, skittering on the snow before coming to rest in little drifts.

I felt good about all this noticing; it brought a kind of joy, this simple observation of what was around me.

Then I reached the fork where I expected to see others’ tracks. Alas there were none, and the trail groomer hadn’t yet made it this far, either. I faced a long and arduous uphill. I began the climb enthusiastically, but by the time I reached the top and the next fork and there were still no tracks or groomed trails, my spirits sank. By now the sky was overcast. I was only at the halfway point and this side of the mountain had borne the brunt of the storm. Whereas the other side had a thin layer of powder atop the crunchy stuff, here it was mostly ice. Each glide resulted in shards cracking and a deep, unpleasant, body-jarring thump. And I still had another slow uphill before I’d reach a point where I might have a downhill respite. When I did finally reach that point, going down was hardly easier, as my skis got stuck in the ice, tripping me up. I finally paused for a snack and something to drink, and the first and only live animal I was to see, a woodpecker, flew next to me and pecked away at a birch while I sipped my tea. I was so appreciative of that bird. The woodpecker, along with gorgeous blue-green ice overhanging the cliffs beside me, renewed my spirits.

The slog resumed. My spirits declined more quickly this time, especially when I reached the next fork and the next big uphill stretch and it, too, had seen neither skier nor groomer. Finally, I ran into two good friends coming my way who listened to my grumpy complaints about being tired (I’d now been skiing 4 hours and had broken 10 miles of trail) and then turned around so that we skied together. I thought of how my mood had changed, from joyful appreciation of the tremendous beauty; from rapt attention to every detail, to exhaustion, frustration and moodiness. That in itself was a lesson. I could have continued to observe carefully. I could have recognized the blessings surrounding me, rather than bemoaning the lack of groomed trails and the unexpected icy conditions. I could have stopped wishing that I’d taken a different route, or that I’d gone skiing closer to home where the snow was snow, not ice, instead of focusing on the “what ifs.” My friends were just what I needed though: ears to listen to a few minutes of complaints, so that I could put my grumpiness aside and revel in the now groomed trail I was delighted to ski upon.

Joy in observation; changing moods; kind listeners. Attitude may not be everything, but it counts for a lot.

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of Most Good, Least Harm
My TEDx talk: “The World Becomes What You Teach“

Image courtesy of Roland Tanglao via Creative Commons.

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Phil Zimbardo’s Secret Power of Time and What It Means for Our Kids

Posted on January 17, 2011 by zoeweil

Take a look at this RSA Animate video of Phil Zimbardo’s The Secret Power of Time.

As I watched this, I wondered what it would take for all of us to have a healthy balance of past, present, and future orientation so that we would all be able to learn from and appreciate our pasts, live fully in our presents, and be cognizant of and choose wisely based upon the goals we have for the future. Personally, I do not think that it is all that wise for most people to live predominantly in one of these categories and neglect the others. While it’s commonplace today for busy, future-oriented people (like me I’d add) to strive to live “in the present,” I think the real goal for people like me ought to be to live more in the present, and to find that elusive balance that enables us to be fully engaged right now while able and willing to reflect upon the past and eager to live in such a way to create a positive and healthy future for ourselves and others.

When Phil Zimbardo discusses the ways in which our children are now digitally rewired and fundamentally different than their parents in relation to time, and points out the ways in which traditional schooling is a disaster for so many kids – boys in particular – one wonders what the solution might be to raise a generation that is balanced in regards to time in today’s world. There are many ideas that lead to this balance for our children: time spent in nature where wonder may be cultivated; unstructured play time; and limited screen time to allow for a leisurely present that leads to joy and creativity in the early years of life that is later balanced with lessons in history (past oriented) and exploration of current conflicts and problems (in the present) that elicit creative ideas for system-changes and solutions (for a healthy future).

I believe it’s time to abandon any judgments about which orientation is “best,” as the early part of Phil Zimbardo’s talk reveals is happening in Italy, and to do away with the idea that our goal should be to “live in the present” or “wisely plan for the future” or “focus on learning from the past.” We need all of these aspects of ourselves together to lead lives that are joyful and wise, and we need to raise a generation that has the capacity to find the healthiest balance, too.

Zoe Weil, President, Institute for Humane Education
Author of The Power and Promise of Humane Education and Most Good, Least Harm: A Simple Principle for a Better World and Meaningful Life

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The Joy of Generosity

Posted on November 10, 2010 by zoeweil

In “Kindness of a Stranger That Still Resonates” we read about the legacy of Samuel Stone, aka B. Virdot, who anonymously gave away modest amounts of money during the Great Depression to people in need who wrote him letters about their financial troubles and described how they would use the funds.

My guess is that Samuel Stone experienced great joy in helping his neighbors in Canton, Ohio, during those bleak years. And I imagine that maintaining his anonymity, and hence the purity of his generosity, only increased that joy.

Here’s a MOGO tip for the day: try doing something generous today and do it anonymously. See how it feels. Let me know how it went, if you have a chance.

Zoe Weil
Author of Most Good, Least Harm and Above All, Be Kind

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Rubie, Elsie, and the Stick

Posted on September 20, 2010 by zoeweil

Most days, I walk my dogs, Ruby and Elsie, down to the ocean. Invariably, Elsie finds a stick to bring home, although stick is really a misnomer. Little Elsie is more likely to carry home a small tree than a stick, and Ruby and I anxiously check our backs because Elsie tears along the path with the stick, banging it into us at high speed if we’re not quick enough to scoot off the path and into the woods. Ruby has taken to jumping aside long before Elsie can ram that stick into her. This morning, I was not so quick. Elsie came up so suddenly that the stick whacked the back of my legs. I sternly said “No, Elsie,” and she looked chagrined. She begin running through the woods with it and avoiding me, but because it’s hard to carry a tree in your mouth through the woods, she changed the angle, carrying it to the side so that the length of the tree was parallel to her body rather than perpendicular to it. What a smart girl, I thought. Yet, why shouldn’t she be smart? Why should I be at all surprised that she’d modify her behavior at my command? She does it all the time.

Although Elsie doesn’t speak English, she has learned far more “human” than I have learned “dog” in our amazing cross-species relationship. She adjusts to me daily, reading my voice, my posture, my movements, my moods, my desires, and tweaking her own behavior to meet both my and her own needs. I have done little to adjust to her, expecting that she will be the one to change – to go to the bathroom only when I let her out and where I expect her to go, to eat only when I provide food and not to eat or chew on the various things in the house that are off-limits (like the CDs and the furniture), to lick only as much as I am comfortable with and no more, to get off the bed on command but know that she is generally welcome to sleep there as long as she doesn’t take “my” space, to “obey” sit, stay, come, lie down, high five, hug, leave it and a few other choice commands, not to mention learning to carry her sticks a new way through an obstacle course of woods rather than a wide open path. She continues to learn how to better suit me while I blithely carry on with no concerted effort to speak her language or follow her “rules.”

Yet I know that her life is an utter joy largely because of the home and life we’ve created for her and Ruby and Griffin (too old now to run to the ocean). I’m happy she’s willing to always adjust so that the back of my legs won’t be whacked by her stick obsession.

Zoe Weil
Author of So, You Love Animals: An Action-Packed, Fun-Filled Book to Help Kids Help Animals, Moonbeam Gold Medal winner for juvenile fiction, Claude and Medea: The Hellburn Dogs and Most Good, Least Harm

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Finding Joy in My Dog Elsie

Posted on August 20, 2010 by zoeweil

I’ve shared my home with seven dogs in my life, and none have had quite as much “personality” as Elsie, who joined our family one year ago. When my husband, Edwin, brought Elsie home from the veterinary clinic where he works, I agreed to a trial weekend. We already had three dogs, one of whom was old and dying from cancer, and the last thing our household needed was a 6-month-old, non-housebroken dog. Besides, Edwin wasn’t supposed to have been at work that day, as we had been planning a camping trip that weekend. But a hurricane dashed those plans, and Edwin forgot something at work and so went into the clinic on a Saturday morning just as Elsie, who’d come in as a stray 10 days earlier, was about to be picked up by a local shelter.

When Elsie arrived in our house she walked in fairly confidently, despite the fact that the house was already full of dogs, two of whom were much bigger than she. In one swift move, she plopped down on the floor, as if signaling her intention to stay. And stay she has, taking her place in our family and my heart as the funniest, most engaging, most loving dog I’ve ever known. Elsie makes eye contact like nobody’s business, but not aggressively. When Elsie looks at you it’s as if she’s trying to pour out her overflowing, enthusiastic heart. I have never felt so adored in all my life as I do by Elsie.

This summer has been a joy for Elsie. If she has tired out our 7-year-old dog, Ruby, and if none of us are willing to play stick, Elsie will simply play stick by herself. She has collected a couple of very large sticks (more like branches), and she keeps them in a specific place by the kiwi arbor. When she wants to play with them she picks one up and runs around with it, and then throws it up in the air and catches it, and then chews it for awhile, leaving it by the arbor for next time. And when she gets hot from such activity, she trots down to the pond and goes for a swim.

Elsie is so attentive that as soon as I awake in the morning, even before I open my eyes, she jumps on the bed (or, if she’s already on the bed, slinks up it), to greet me. She’s learned not to paw me or lick me on my face (I don’t like either of these behaviors), but to give a teeny lick on my hand and rest her head on my body to say good morning. And then I pet her, and we are both so happy.

It’s hard to describe the joy that Elsie brings me. The best way I have of understanding it is by observing her. She is joyous in a way I can only imagine, and lucky for me, I experience a measure of it in her presence.

Zoe Weil
Author of Most Good, Least Harm, Claude and Medea: The Hellburn Dogs, and So, You Love Animals: An Action-Packed, Fun-Filled Book to Help Kids Help Animals

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