The simplest things.

[Iwant2bafencer]

The 'Meaning of Life' thread got me thinking. What are the little things that make life so meaningful? You know, the smallest things that we over look as we rush out the door to work or school, and never stop to take a look at. What are the simplest things that make your life happy?

[whtouche]

The obligatory response:
Fencing.

It's more multi-tiered than that, but it has a profound effect on almost all aspects of my life. So there you have it.

[Soldier]

Snow. Wind. The smell of rain. The way my girlfriend says hi when I give her a surprise call. The feeling of a good, heavy overcoat when the cold wind is howling around you. The feeling of your cold face when you walk into a warm area from outside. Doing something - anything - exactly right, and knowing you just made it look effortless, no matter how hard it actually was. Eating a huge meal, then taking a nap on the couch with a warm girl in your arms on a chilly evening...

[C.J.]

I'd like to think life is cheap, ugly, meaningless, another messed-up experiment from god. Thinking that way makes me treasure everyday I have. And if should it end abruptly I wouldn't feel too bad either. Ha ha. What a win-win situation.

[Delmont]

I have to agree with most of Soldier's responce. Add to that the feel of rain pelting our face. My girlfriends smile, coming home from work at 11:30 at night and throwing myself down on the couch and reading, dropping everything to go on some random trip. Paintball, not falling flat on your arse when the hillside is an ice sheet, thats always good too.

[MyraTrue]

The sound of the wind when its gale force. The sky at midnight in december when there's a bright moon and a new cover of snow. That feeling when someone you've missed just walks into the room.

The feeling when you've run 4 miles, and realize, you really did just do it. The way a perfect fleche feels. Waking up in a cold room, in a nest of blankets, and knowing you don't have to get up for another hour.

Puddles on rainy days. A window nook at a library, a good book, and a view of the plaza to watch people from. A good song, a long drive. A smile.

[Inquartata]

The absence of snow. The absence of wind. The absence of rain. ( No offense, Soldier! ) Though I do like a good thunderstorm...in the distance, moving away.

Warm sunshine. Hot showers. Quiet. A good book. A fine sword. Sleep.

[blue_falcon]

My friend's beaming smile, her throaty, joyous laughter as it echoes across the room. The contented smile on her face as she falls asleep on the couch. The somewhat confused but beautiful look on her face when she wakes up in the morning. The smile on her face when she stretches after waking up!

Watching her curl up on the couch to watch her sitcoms and her other TV shows. Her tiny girl-like voice when she calls me on the phone with good news.

The knowledge that I'm helping, in some small way, to brighten up her world.

The smile that crosses someone's face when you give them something they really want but was not expecting.

[labouche]

The sky, the stars, good friends, chocolate covered cofee beans.
-la bouche

[EvilWeasle]

A sword you can see your face in.

[Iwant2bafencer]

Wow. This is awesome everyone! and here I was thinking I was a nut for enjoying everything you all have said.

[Soldier]

Originally posted by Inquartata
The absence of snow. The absence of wind. The absence of rain. ( No offense, Soldier! ) Though I do like a good thunderstorm...in the distance, moving away.

Warm sunshine. Hot showers. Quiet. A good book. A fine sword. Sleep.

None taken - all things in there times! Plenty of occasions I'd agree with you. Along those lines, a cold shower after a hot day, the noise of people chatting quietly in the background as you drift off to sleep, a good movie...

[Soldier]

Originally posted by EvilWeasle
A sword you can see your face in.

Boots you can see your face in, and creases like a sword edge.

[MyraTrue]

The feeling as you leave a gift for someone who'll never know who left it.

empty streets and a snow filled sky, with someone special with you.

Long drives to fencing tournaments, the drive back when everyone is asleep but you. The look on a beginners face, the first time they score on a parry riposte.

Late nights, a warm room, and good company.

[leia]

a "well done" from your coach or superiors.

lying on cusions with your freinds on a mildly warm, perfect saunny day talking while others play football in the feild below.

a hug.

lying down infront of a fan (summer) or in a blanket (winter) reading.

[D+F+P=Hadouken!]

That touch that was just perfect. The timing, the tempo, the movement, the bend in the blade and the resilient thud and cry of agony that your opponents body makes as you score the perfect, winning touch.

[D+F+P=Hadouken!]

A midnight december bokken duel, on a suspended bridge over a lake, no armor, no one else, just you, your sword, and your opponent and no stupid rules, and the feeling of dancing with the devil in the pale moonlight.

That feeling of being in "the zone" during a fencing match, everything just comes naturally, and you just sit back and relex and watch your body fight.

There is another pleasurable experience, but common courtesy dictates that I not talk of it.

[Aestro]

doing small nice things for people. Not even going out of your way, but just showing courtesy - letting that guy merge ahead of you, holding the door for a stranger, grinning like an idiot at everyone who walks by. Joy in life comes a lot from those things that raise someone else's spirits just a bit. It might not have a huge impact, but if they're made a little happier, the ripples are usually worth it.

[deadly lefty]

when you remember the feeling you get when you move into a new school and you feel like the biggest loser in school eating lunch by yourself and your future best friend in the world says "hey come sit with us" then a week later with your two new best friends and you are hiding in a ditch filled with water when its 30 degrees out because you just blew up a port-a-potty with a huge firework.

the feeling you get when you are briskly walking away from a flaming port-a-potty like you are the cats meow

[neevel]

Originally posted by whtouche
The obligatory response:
Fencing.

It's more multi-tiered than that, but it has a profound effect on almost all aspects of my life. So there you have it.

I was wanting to expand on the above. Then I read this article on Slate magazine by Matthew Polly. Although it is specifically about Shaolin kung-fu, the last three paragraphs, which I'll quote below, made my intended point as well as I could hope to.

That afternoon there is a traditional forms competition. In
Shaolin schools, they teach traditional forms (kung fu), modern
wushu (which is like the martial arts meets figure skating), and
sanda (Chinese style kickboxing). The competitors are mostly the
young students, but there is a seniors category, which in the
kung fu world is anyone over the age of 40. Most of the seniors
are kung fu instructors from the various schools who are all very
skilled and heartily cheered by their students. The man who
impresses me the most, however, is a peasant in his 70s, his
gray hair peppered with a few black strands. He does not wear
the flowing silk garb of kung fu forms competitions. He wears
what he wears to work everyday: thick blue cotton jacket, gray
cotton pants, and traditional black kung fu shoes. His weapon is
the pudao, a large staff with a thick blade at one end and a
spear point at the other. It is not a light performance pudao,
which is made out of hollow wood with a tin blade for increased
ease of movement; it is the traditional version with thick wood
and a rusted steel blade, the kind of heirloom handed down from
father to son.

His technique is not great—clearly he will not win one of the top
three prizes—but he moves with a certain grace. As he slowly
moves the pudao around his body, pacing up and down the mat,
his back bent, it occurs to me that he has been practicing this
form for at least the last 60 years, which means he was practicing
it during the Japanese invasion, during the Civil War, during the
ban on kung fu, during the Cultural Revolution, and during this
capitalist explosion in wealth. From the roughness of his hands
and the deep wrinkled tan of his face, he has been either a
farmer or a manual laborer his entire life, a tough, dusk-to-dawn,
back-breaking life. But somehow he has found the time to keep
at this form. 

All this rolls over me in a wave of unexpected emotion. And as I
take his picture, I find myself having to keep the camera against
my face to hide the flow of tears, which, loosed by the baijiou and
mixed with the emotion of seeing my master again, won't stop.
When I was 21 what I admired most was the tremendous skill of
the monks. I wanted to be that good at something, anything. But
as I watch this old man, what I am most impressed with is the
devotion. It is what has allowed this culture to survive (and now
thrive) despite the traumas. As he finishes his form, what I want
is to love something, anything as much as he so obviously loves
Shaolin kung fu.