“The Orange” by Wendy Cope
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
When I read "The Orange," I knew I wanted to write about it, and I thought the post would be about gratitude. As I wrote in my last newsletter, life has been chaotic lately, so I thought gratitude would be a good topic for me to revisit. Sometimes poems surprise me, though, and "The Orange" did just that when I realized it's not just about gratitude but about savoring what's in front of you.
I'm good at living as a thankful person. I've made finding things for which to be grateful part of my life in such a way that I don't have to think about it much anymore. Giving thanks has become a habit, but savoring? I have much to learn about slowing down, experiencing life in the moment, and soaking up the joy before me.
I'm not the type of person who enjoys the journey; I want to get to my destination. I don't often finish a great book and linger over it; I put it down and start my next read. I like efficiency and structure more than experimentation and adventure. I appreciate it when people get to the point. While those perspectives are valid, sometimes I miss out on beautiful things and moments because of my desire to get to the next thing.
In "The Orange," Cope immediately pulls me into a scene of friends enjoying something simple and delicious. Not only are they tasting it, but they're sharing and laughing. Gratitude is being thankful for the orange, but savoring it involves noticing and experiencing what the orange offers. Cope writes of the orange and other ordinary things like shopping and a walk in the park and says, "This is peace and contentment." I often have to fight the perfectionist side of myself to achieve those two things. I'm happy, but I always want to do and accomplish more.
I often feel conflicted about resting versus getting things done, but Cope includes accomplishments in the last stanza of her poem when she writes, "I did all the jobs on my list / and enjoyed them and had some time over." There is time to sit with friends and eat the orange, time to shop, and time to take a walk, but there's also time to work. I think the key is enjoyment. While it's silly to believe I'll enjoy each chore or task, I can think about how those tasks can be savored. I might not enjoy doing laundry, but I can savor the smell of my sheets when I pull them from the dryer. I don't enjoy getting up before the sun rises for work, but I can savor the quiet and cool morning air.
Cope closes her poem by saying, "I love you. I'm glad I exist." May we all be blessed with people in our lives who we get to love and be loved by. May I find gladness in my existence, in the everyday moments of living, working, and creating. I want to challenge myself to not only be grateful but to savor the beauty and goodness I encounter.
Here are some things I've slowed down to savor lately:
a cup of coffee at the perfect temperature
my favorite soft blanket that feels so good against my skin
laughing with friends about something silly
spotting beautiful turkeys on my way to work
poems that I thought meant one thing but actually mean a lot more
What about you? What have you savored this week? What can you slow down to appreciate more in the days ahead? I’d love to hear your thoughts.
I’ve been keeping a gratitude journal.
I’m finding it’s the little things that make all the difference!
Like having a friend like you to laugh with!🥰
I’m glad you exist too. I savor the deep belly laughs I often have in your company. Tara Brach writes on happiness, and she has a hack that entails 3 things, gratitude, savoring and service. It’s that simple. Yet,
I’m trying to do it for two weeks and finding it hard.