I read an interesting article today. Research psychologists have determined that human emotions fall into twenty-seven categories. I was surprised (emotional state number 27) because off-hand, I could only come up with about eight or ten feelings. This explains why I only use half a dozen emojis in my text messages. Well, that and the fact that I live in horror (number 18) of using them incorrectly. I once read a social media post about a millennial correcting the emoji that her mother had used in connection with someone’s death. The well-intentioned mom used a crying emoji, but it was the one that reflects laughing so hard you are crying. She was mortified when she found out. (Note: mortification is not on the list.)
The research study participants viewed hundreds of evocative video clips and then reported their feelings afterwards. The data allowed psychologists to verify that there are 27 distinct categories, although most emotional states are a nuanced blend of moods, as opposed to singular, dominant states of mind.
On a whim, I decided to roll the dice and randomly choose one mood from the list and make it the subject of a blog post. I was intrigued with the assignment, but a little concerned. I am all about commitment, and I was not going to wimp out and discard an unpleasant emotion if I selected it. That is cheating, and I would be disgusted (number 13) with myself.
My husband may have thought I was buying a lottery ticket when I asked him to pick a number between one and twenty-seven. He considered the request thoughtfully, as though the answer would make a significant difference in our net worth, for better or worse. He responded with “twenty-two,” and I counted through the series, and arrived at the emotion of “relief.” I was, well, relieved at the randomly chosen mood that I was bound to write about. It could have been number twenty-six, sexual desire. That would have been an awkward (number 8) blog post.
I reflected on my day to decide if relief was present. I awoke at 4:20 am, and I could not get back to sleep, which was frustrating. (Why frustration is not on the roster, I have no idea.) My morning run with Boomer the Dog supplied the first feeling of relief – at least when it was over. Running is a wonderful way to start the day, but it is exercise that requires effort, and I am always relieved when it is over. I also experience calm (number 10). Boomer has different emotions at the end of our outing, and they always amuse (number 4) me. He looks at me with awe (number 7) and adoration (number 2). He knows I am going to feed him breakfast, and he thinks staring at me will make it happen faster.
Next up was driving to my volunteer work at the Sammamish Animal Sanctuary in Renton, Washington. It is a pleasant, 25-minute drive with little traffic. But I am hard-wired to wait until the last minute to go anywhere, which means that I am always anxious (number 6) about being late. To be fair, I am a volunteer; it is not likely that I will be fired for intransigence if I am not on time.
It is the first day of summer camp at the Sanctuary, and the excitement (number 16) of the children and the teenaged counselors is beyond vibrant and a bit confusing (number 11) for some. The day campers are entranced (number 15) by the experience of feeding and petting the livestock. The farm animals at the rescue are mostly unperturbed by the unexpected energy, although the mini horses that are being groomed and ridden by the youngsters are interested (number 19) in whether that means they will be given extra treats.
My volunteer work today is rigorous: hauling hay, scooping poop, raking stall bedding, sweeping walkways, and shoveling out soiled sawdust from duck pens. But being around horses and barns fills me with nostalgia (number 21) as it reminds me of my youth and adolescence when trips to the stable and riding horses soothed my erratic soul. Completing barnyard tasks is satisfying (number 25) in an odd way; the farm animals are mildly bored (number 9) with my presence, and yet, I know my efforts are contributing to their well-being. One of the ducks, a sweet elderly girl with a gimpy leg, is always flustered by humans, and my heart goes out to her with empathy (number 14) because of her fear (number 17). I pick her up gently and murmur softly, as I place her on a clean nesting box filled with fragrant, fresh hay, and she settles in with relief.
My three-hour stint passes quickly, and my fatigued body is blissfully relieved when I clamber into the car to drive back home. I have not eaten all day, and I crave (number 12) the taste, smell, and sensation of eating lunch.
After lunch, I drive to a local bank where my law firm has its accounts. It is a special occasion – the retirement party for an employee on the anniversary of his 34th year of employment. We are not close friends, of course, but a 20-year banking relationship is cemented in something more than just business. He gives me a warm hug when he sees me. I will miss him; I always admired (number 1) his steadfast calm and professionalism.
When I arrive back home, our lawn maintenance gardener is just finishing his work. It is the time of year when our yard is energetically bursting with blooms and blossoms – a simply joyful (number 20) exhibition of Mother Nature in her finest hour. I am aesthetically appreciative (number 3) of our gardener’s handiwork; he could have been a sculptor in another life.
Don comes home from work early at the very moment I am heading out for two afternoon dog walks. I am happily relieved that my dog walking time will be cut in half and that I will have company. It is a warm day, and I do not relish the prospect of too much time in the sun. It is a fitting end to good day, completely devoid of anger (number 5) and sadness (number 24).
Of the entire emotional list, the animals and I are only missing romance (number 23) today. I do not know about them, but for me, there is still time.