HAPPY NEW YEAR, and joy to the world.

Starting a year that is fraught with threats to democracy and the foundations of our nation as we’ve known it, some friends have helped remind me that there is, in fact, joy to be found every day if we remember to look.

As my new partner, Carol, and I celebrated her birthday at a beach rental on Washington’s Pacific Coast a few days after Christmas, we found joy in the simplest pleasure: watching her dog, Chevy, run like the wind across the wide beach sands on a cool winter day.

Chevy, whose pedigree is almost as diverse as the ingredients of Heinz 57 sauce, has both dachshund and black Labrador in his mix, the same as Skippy, the dog-of-small-stature-but-large-character who was a loyal canine friend to my family as I grew up. Chevy is almost the spitting, tongue-lolling image of Skippy, in both appearance and life-loving temperament.

When we took Skip on hikes into the Cascades in long-ago days when few people leashed their dogs in the backcountry, he would run up and back ahead of us on the trail, putting in twice the mileage on his short but well-muscled legs. And, bless his fearless canine heart, he would never pass up the chance to trot atop a fallen tree, even if it spanned a chasm with a rushing mountain stream 100 feet below. Many a time we held our breath until he got across. And then held it again as he crossed back.

Carol’s Chevy just loves to run. And when unleashed on a stretch of ocean beach blissfully absent of cars, you couldn’t miss the expression of delight on that dog’s face as he raced full-tilt across the sands. The joy was contagious, and we whooped and guffawed. “Faster than a speeding bullet!” I would holler as he rocketed past me with a little side-leap to send sand flying my way.

Another joyful moment came that evening when we looked out our beach house’s front window. At first, we remarked on how many crabbing boats were out to sea that night. Then we quickly remembered it was clamming season. The long row of lights we saw were from happy families of clam diggers far out on the beach harvesting razor clams during the winter night’s extreme low tide. There was just something joyful about the spectacle, knowing that here was a scene of simple adventure and fun played out far beyond the stage of war and politics.

Here’s hoping you experience joy in the coming year, wherever you may find it. And in this fateful year of 2024, let that joy fuel our fight for democracy. It benefits us all and relies on us all.

Happy new year.