For poets, misery is the muse. Joy is often dismissed as too boring to depict, and indeed courting contentment has produced far fewer good poems than heartbreak or death.
Last year, when the churn of current events threatened to leave me mentally and physically spent, I asked my colleagues to count up their moments of bliss: big or small, profound or ridiculous.
The results were so moving in their enumeration of domestic wins that I decided to bring the exercise back. So here, again, are some of the things that kept us sane in 2024.
May it remind you that bliss doesn't need to be wordless. From all of us, the very best for the season.
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