My first two experiences in this year of Cultivating Delight weren’t dramatic or adventurous. They didn’t require travel or planning or courage in the way we often think about courage.
But they asked something deeper of me.
They asked me to challenge a story I’ve been carrying for a long time.
A story that says: take the minimum.
Don’t ask for more.
Don’t choose the upgrade.
Don’t draw attention to yourself.
Don’t be “too much.”
It’s a story shaped by my childhood—we depended on the financial support of others, and often even the little we had could be perceived as excessive by those around us. Somewhere along the way, I internalized the idea that anything “extra” wasn’t just unnecessary—it was selfish. Indulgent. Maybe even a little shameful.
So I learned to choose the smallest option.
Be okay with the most basic version.
Be satisfied with the charitable castoffs of others.
Choose the thing that won’t stand out.
But I’m trying to learn a different script.
I used my birthday reward at Starbucks. A free drink. The first time I used my stars to get a drink was a thing. But this time, I decided to treat myself. I practiced the words in my head as I walked into the store. I imagined a friend next to me the whole time saying, “you can do this. It’s okay. God doesn’t think less of you.” And I did it. I ordered a venti caramel macchiato. Hot.
Not because I needed it. Not because it was practical. Not because it was within my daily calorie limit. But because I could.
And almost immediately, I noticed the internal resistance.
That’s too much.
You don’t need that.
It’s not good for you.
Why not just get the regular size?
But instead of shrinking back, I let myself receive it.
A larger cup. A small act of delight.
The second moment required a bit more intention.
I booked a night at a hotel as a birthday gift to myself. A chance to step away, to rest, to mark the beginning of this year in a tangible way. Even that was a stretch for me. But I went a step farther.
When I made the reservation, I added a wine and cheese tray that would be waiting for me when I arrived.
Again, nothing extravagant in the grand scheme of things.
But for me, it felt big.
Because it wasn’t necessary.
It wasn’t efficient.
It was, simply, extra.
And that’s exactly why it mattered.
What I’m beginning to notice is that this year isn’t just about doing new things. It’s about relating differently to what I’m allowed to receive.
Delight, for me, is not just about noticing what is already present. It’s also about loosening the grip of scarcity thinking—the quiet, persistent belief that I should take up as little space as possible, want as little as possible, need as little as possible.
What if that’s not humility? What if choosing something a little bigger, a little more generous—toward myself—is not selfish, but healing?
So here I am, practicing something new: Choosing the larger cup. Adding the thing that isn’t necessary. Letting delight be enough of a reason.
Not all the time. Not without thought. But sometimes. Intentionally.
Because I’m learning that generosity doesn’t only flow outward. It can also be something I receive.
And maybe—just maybe—what I allow myself to receive shapes what I’m able to give.
This is how I’m beginning.