Peachism and the Art of Being Happy
Last weekend, my son gifted me with a loaf of homemade peach bread that he discovered while traveling through Georgia on the way to South Carolina. The package came with a postcard printed with this crisp, appealing slogan: Life’s a peach, then you pie. The bread was a finger-food delicacy similar to monkey bread and the words were an enchanting, buoyant refreshment.
Unlike its counter and more familiar quote, “Life’s a b****, then you die,” the one on the postcard is a tasteful treat, a cheery and entertaining reminder of what is enjoyable. Not much tops an optimistic phrase that reminds you of succulent peaches. When I read this one, a grin grew on my face, and I decided to adopt the expression and promote it as my summer mantra.
Cleverly penned, this peach ditty speaks to me about how I want to be and feel, which is to say, like a fine fruit — sweet, delightful, excellent, and highly valued. Dismissing the slang usage of peach, I affectionately applaud the appreciative “You’re a peach!” and the amiable “Have a peach of a day!” So, if Georgia peach farmers want to suggest life is a peach, I will take it, especially if it leads to a classic, southern peachy dessert.
During this season of warmth, I certainly look forward to devouring fresh, juicy peaches and any foodstuffs created with this stone fruit. Peaches and cream, peach ice cream or yogurt, peach preserves, peach buckle, crisp, or cobbler — I could go on and on. This fuzzy fruit has serious value beyond its artsy still life.
Everything peachy, however, does not have to be edible. According to Southern Living magazine, the color peach can feel simultaneously lively and soothing while promoting feelings of joy and warmth. So, when I need a mood boost, I will think of a peachy dawn that introduces a new day or the comparable hue of dusk that ushers it out.
If I want a spirit lift, I will think of the downy peach fuzz on a newborn baby’s head or the scent of my mother’s peach-colored peonies that bloomed each spring in my backyard as a child. For a fanciful pick-me-up, I can reread James and the Giant Peach and Roald Dahl will remind me that a peach symbolizes hope. After all, I am not a gloomy earthworm who hates to be happy, but a ladybird who believes that the sun will inevitably shine brightly again out of a soft blue sky.*
I am not foolish enough to believe that life will always be peachy keen, but I contend that when I purposely pay attention to what is good, my life may be happier. If I aspire to achieve joy, I must pursue it, which sometimes requires me to journey into an orchard where I can deciduously shred negativity. I will reach for a peach, snatch a napkin to wipe off the juice dribbling down my chin, and then unmask an unimpeachable, clean smile.
* Inspiration from chapter 18