A world full of wonder
The other day, I drove out to meet a friend for a walk in the woods. I hadn’t checked the weather forecast (as one doesn’t when simultaneously wrapping light chains around windows, wrestling a pine-sappy Christmas wreath onto the front door door and ordering a tsunami of stocking stuffers, all in one breath). So it caught me as a bit of a surprise that out in the hills, it was snowing.
And not just snowing-snowing but SNOW-ing. Having slid the last few meters towards the trailhead, I got out of the car and found myself in an entirely different world. Tall trees disappearing behind big, fat flakes. Undergrowth frothing with snow. Not a single footstep on the path ahead. There was so much white, such sparkly, frosty wonder, that, involuntarily, I threw up my arms, tilted my head back and whooped out loud. It was an odd feeling, like something had opened up my ribcage and let in a piercing shaft of light and hope and optimism. The moment was over in seconds, but it left behind a lovely sense of contentment and right-ness.
Later (after the most glorious winter walk in the history of all winter walks), I tried to describe the feeling to a friend. I couldn’t quite capture it for her — she was mostly shocked that I’d driven into what was by then known as the First Snowcalypse of the Season (we live in the middle of Germany; it doesn’t take much) — but she perked right up at my description. Oh nice. You’ve had a glimmer!
A glimmer?
According to the internet, ‘glimmers’ are, in fact, a real thing. They’re micro-moments of pleasure and joy. Tiny noodles in our chicken soup for the soul. A twinkle light in the darkness. Glimmers might be set off by awe or by something very ordinary, but they always results in a sudden rush of hope and expansiveness, a feeling of lifting, of lightness.
Newly glimmer-literate, I remember other, similar moments. Driving into a gust of autumn leaves and being suddenly submerged in a rust-coloured cloud. Sitting in the back of the school’s advent service and listening to the brass section joyfully blasting out the first choral of the season. Rounding the corner and seeing the Strasbourg Munster, lit up by sparkly angels and so majestic it makes you feel like soaring. Or more ordinary things: the first sip of a perfectly hot coffee in the morning. The swish of a new haircut. That parking space by your front door when you’re cross and tired and bogged down with grocery bags.
Or, indeed, glimmers of the bookish kind:
A sentence so perfectly capturing a sentiment that your breath catches in your throat. A description that makes a character almost jump from the page. A turn of phrase so clever, so quietly witty, that you’re simply grateful you live in a world where there is language and words and people to put them onto a page.
My wish for you
It’s Christmas, a time when the holidays can get just a little too holiday-ish, and when they do, I hope you’ll remember the small little glow-worm of happiness that is our new friend: the glimmer. Let those small surges of unexpected pleasure, moments of smiling-to-yourself joy and deep contentment lift you up and shine a light for you, all the way into 2024.
