by Meredith Siegel Cohen, Creator, Single and Striking Out
There was a moment during my trip to Savannah when a feeling washed over me that I can only describe as pure, unadulterated joy. I felt like a student in a classroom of life, and someone was instructing me to stay still and listen carefully. And it started with the purchase of an ice cream cone.
This was not just any cone. It possessed the perfect crunch-to-smooth ratio, with dark chocolate chips enmeshed in rich, velvety vanilla ice cream. The sun wasn’t overly hot, affording me the luxury of savoring it without too much drippage (is that a word?). It lasted just long enough for me to delight in each tasty lick and bite.
I know what you’re thinking. Okay, Meredith, you had a good dessert that made you happy. Is this really enough to constitute a blog piece—and how is it relevant?
Bear with me.
After lunch one day, I decided it was imperative that I try Leopold’s “famous” ice cream, which is heralded all over the city. I have no sense of direction, yet managed to be a honing pigeon when finding the ice cream parlor. (Go figure!) I had a half hour until my next historic house tour and was determined to squeeze this indulgence into the schedule. With little effort, I made it to the celebrated shop. My ultimate selection was not my first choice—in fact, surprisingly, I had never ordered my chosen flavor before. However, the cookies and cream ice cream was not made with real Oreos, or even a chocolate sandwich cookie, so that was out. I sampled my second choice, which I cannot recall but didn’t love, and so I settled on vanilla chocolate chip in a cake cone. Younger me would have proclaimed it to be a very boring choice.
I took a bite, and it was nothing short of perfection. Winding back to my next destination, I found myself smiling and almost giddy. In those few minutes, I felt like a little girl again—innocent, free, and totally in the moment with my treat. Nothing else mattered. The temperature was warm, with a soft wind blowing, and I was elated. I finished it while sitting on a bench in a sun-kissed square.
I’ve developed some bigger questions as I’ve begun this journey of embracing my solo life—questions that aren’t easy to answer:
• What is true joy, and can I experience it fully without a partner?
• What does it mean to grow into myself, outside of a relationship?
• How will I know when I’ve reached a place of real comfort—or even success—as a solo woman? Or will it always be this jumbled-up glob of emotions and feelings that hit differently on any given day?
Well, I’m certainly not tackling all of these questions in this piece, but I do have some thoughts about joy.
Joy didn’t used to feel like such a mystery. But when my marriage started falling apart, it became harder to find. For a while, I wasn’t sure I’d feel truly happy again. I’ve written it on enough cards—wishing people joyful moments, a joyous holiday, joy in the new year, and so forth. There are obvious times when I assume everyone feels joy—like falling in love or holding one’s baby for the first time. But what about the in-between? When we’re feeling the weight of solitude—can joy still find us?
Upon polishing off my treat, I looked up and saw the light stream between the trees in what appeared to be a very purposeful manner. A contentment washed over me, and I felt a call to notice. As if someone was saying, “Pay attention to what’s really important! You are healthy and strong. You are okay on your own. Appreciate all that nature and life have to offer. The time to do so is now.”
I realized in that moment that while it would have been lovely to have had someone to share in the experience, it wasn’t necessary. There I was, having a very ordinary moment, by myself, when I felt something light up in me. It reminded me that these moments—the little ones—are worth noticing. They are not necessarily placeholders until something “bigger” comes along. They might just be the bigger thing. And they are here for us solos to enjoy just as much as anyone else.
So, if you’re walking alone (perhaps with a culinary confection) and suddenly smiling for no reason, pay attention. That just might be joy.
Have you ever felt a burst of joy in a moment you thought would pass unnoticed? What did it teach you about yourself?