Do you know what a samara is? Maybe you know it by another name?

It has a few.

Wingnut, helicopter, polynose, or a Spinning Jenny? What about whirligig or whirlybird?

Most people call them maple keys.

Anyway, I think about them all the time. Because they’re tied to one of my earliest memories.

I was around three- or four-years old, I think, at my Grandma’s house. She used to babysit me a lot when I was little, while my parents were at work.

One day, she took me outside to play. There was this huge maple tree in my grandparent’s backyard. It recently dropped its maple keys, or samaras, or whatever you call them.

My grandma bent over and picked one up. “This is a whirlybird.”

“Twirlybird?”

She didn’t correct me, laughing instead. And as she did, she tossed the samara as high in the air as she could. I looked up and began giggling in delight as it spun lazily down toward us.

Twirling.

Twirling.

Twirling.

I jumped and tried to catch it when it came within reach, missing completely. I laughed at my clumsiness. My grandma laughed at my silliness.

We spent the next 20 minutes throwing ‘twirlybirds’ in the air. She’d gather a handful and walk up onto the back deck so she could toss them higher. I’d lay on the grass and watch as they twirled down towards me.

I remember it so clearly.

The soft, green grass tickling the back of my neck. The beams of sun piercing through the canopy of that old maple tree. The twirlybirds dotting the sky.

But I remember the simple pleasure of it most of all. Which is what I think about when I think of my grandma, Rose.

Maybe she was just keeping me entertained. Maybe she was just teaching me an interesting fact about maple trees.

What she really did was show me how to live.

My grandma saw beauty in everyday life. She found joy in the plainest of things. Like being the first to shout, “Eyes down, watch your numbers!” during Bingo. Or tossing cans in the recycling bin like she was taking free throws—she could make a game out of just about any daily chore.

That was my grandma’s approach to life. My mom had the same perspective. And I’m trying to live the same way.

It’s why I think about twirlybirds so often. Why I wrote a song about them when I was 17.

Twirlybirds keep flyin’
Spots on the sun
Twirlybirds keep flyin’
Livin’ just for fun

Maybe if I keep tryin’
I’ll spread my arms out wide
There ain’t no use in dyin’
When you’re feelin’ alive (alright)

Let’s face it, life is serious enough. Adulthood is serious enough.

It’s easy to get buried beneath the pressure and stress of it all. It’s easy to get bogged down by your responsibilities, deadlines, and to-dos.

It’s easy to end up jaded and detached.

So, be more intentional with your joy today. Take time for simple pleasures and let your inner child out to play for a bit.

That’s what sustains you through the bullshit—the light during dark times.

Be more like a twirlybird, livin’ just for fun.