Stop telling me to find the magic in the everyday
Sometimes the everyday sucks
I think I need to start a new category of academic inquiry called something like Enforced Magic or The Assumed Morality of Wonder in which the imperative to “cherish the mundane” or “find beauty in the everyday” is held up as morally superior than, for example, struggle, boredom, frustration, or overwhelm.
This Instagram reel shows Leah Lane (@mymulberryhouse) “relishing the little things,” in her day which include:
Dancing amongst chickens in a dress that looks plucked from Tess of the d'Urbervilles backdropped by a wisteria-cloaked brick manor.
Skipping with beatific small children on an empty beach.
Biking through a country lane (again, amongst chickens) on a twee bike (complete with basket).
Arranging a bounty of flowers in multiple receptacles (still with chickens).
Traipsing through a field of daisies.
Observing a deer traipsing through a field of daisies.
Reading storybooks to children in a whimsical tented reading nook that looks like it was designed using these dudes’ house as inspo.
Cradling young chickens.
Rolling down a grassy hill.
Blowing puffs of soap suds from one’s hands.
Arranging more flowers.
Wearing a billowy nightgown (?) in a field while a cat gambols at one’s feet.
As should be clear from this list, Leah Lane’s directive to “live like everything is extraordinary” isn’t particularly difficult if everything is extraordinary by virtue of European country estates, an endless profusion of floral inspiration, children who seem to solely pursue aesthetically adorable activities, and of course, chickens delightfully popping up out of every nook and cranny.
“Living like everything is extraordinary,” in other words, is easy when you are cushioned by money and privilege.
“Living like everything is extraordinary” is less easy when you don’t have the privilege of time to marvel at the ephemeral magic of dish soap, or the privilege of patience to relish story time, or the privilege of wealth to live surrounded by natural beauty.
Trying to see the beauty of everyday, even when you’ve had a bad one. If I can remember to relish the little things, even just for a few moments in this hectic life, I am better for it.
Not everyone’s “everyday” lives up to the same aesthetic standards featured in this Instagram reel. Some people’s “everydays” are bound up by stained linoleum, fluorescent lighting, overbearing bosses, hot pink My Little Pony pajamas, squabbling children fighting over television choices, and chronic burnout, which makes “relishing the little things” feel less important than tackling “the big things” like inaccessible, unaffordable childcare; skyrocketing housing costs; hustle culture; and a whole host of other systemic, structure inequities making it tough to drop everything and pirouette one’s way through a bad day (wisteria and homespun calico dresses not included).
Listen, I am on a lifelong quest to live a more present life and derive meaning outside of striving and doing and consuming. But just as I don’t think everyone should be forced into loving their bodies, I don’t think we should view “seeing the beauty in the everyday” as synonymous with moral goodness. Missing in this equation is any mention of the luxury of time. It takes time to locate a field full of daisies; it takes time to walk through it. It takes time to register the beauty of any given moment, daisy-filled or not. And I think there’s something ludicrously obtuse and a little cruel in assuming that all people, regardless of life circumstances or level of access to privileges, can be made “better” by choosing to locate beauty, magic, or wonder in any given moment. Some moments aren’t magical, some moments kind of suck, and they’re only going to suck more if we feel guilty about our inability to trick ourselves into viewing them as wondrous.
Gah. Thank you. How many takes to get that perfect soap bubble shot!! Semi-related: I sometimes feel like these “aesthetically cluttered” Instagrams stress me out even more than the white kitchen/clean countertop Instagrams. Like at least I understand the urge to maintain a blank slate at all times. But this joyful curation of clutter, but only the right clutter, looks SO labor intensive.
I went to this charmer's instagram (WHY) and scrolled for a bit. It reminds me of many other cutesy calico dream life influencers I've seen and been bummed out by. I will tell you one thing though--my daughter raises chickens, and they are NOT all sweetness and light, nor is their shit, which they let loose whenever they feel like it (yes, even when you cuddle them). She might be getting happiness in the everyday, but if she's letting her chickens roam free in the house, she's cleaning up their shit, too, and it is NASTY.