You're absolutely right, it is most definitely a choice and an effort must be made when your joy seems at its most elusive. It is then that you have to get pissed and say "up yours, not today!" and be thankful that God or the universe or whatever works for you, provided so much to be joyful for so we can call upon it to counter when the bad shit happens, because it is going to. Nick, as I sit here in Bologna far away from my family in Australia, I am contemplating what brings me joy. I am fortunate to be here as I approach my 60th birthday. I am happily married to Bruce (good Australian name) and have a beautiful son Matthew who has just turned 29.
And gratitude as a daily practice seems to make it multiply. As I read question #299 two thoughts immediately popped up. 1) I want to be the 2nd hand designer bags answer that Nick chooses for publication, but this will probably detract from the joy he is talking about. 2) Nick is right that we have to actively seek joy. At the moment of reading this advice, I noticed a dull ache in my knee from sitting down for too long.
And the great joy in fully inhabiting feeling alive, not just living but vibrating in that one flying-away moment of life. These are the joys of my sixty-odd years. I have terminal cancer at 43 and have to cling to every little bit of joy I can get. I find it where I see nature and the universe carrying on, knowing they will carry on without me as they always do.
Music and poetry strike a particular joyful chord in my sense of being, and so I dance with them, loved ones and strangers who become loved ones. Joy finds you.It is always there waiting, to be noticed, to be felt, to be seen.And then it joins us in moments, and we dance and sing and laugh ... Revelling.And then it is gone, and we question ourselves and look all around. Again.And so I find joy when I am open enough to let it in.Most often it is walking in the park with my dogs in the early dark of morning. Before even the Kookaburras.Or enveloped in the salty ocean, my load shared, stroking forward and breathing.And then writing, when the words magically flow, and land to stare back in my wonder.I feel joy when I see other's hearts.
For most of my life, I've been fearful of much of this world. We matured together, not least for me, because I gave up drinking early in our journey.He shed his fears, and we grew in confidence and serenity. Initially, we took to the moors to try to help with weight loss--always on a harness, for it is far too dangerous here for small tigers. Soon we grew to cherish these ritual circuits of his kingdom. He held his fortress against a young pitbull and an aggressive cat, but perhaps our fondest moments were simply lying amidst the fresh mint plants, prodded by the breeze. In all times of year he requested his outings, even climbing atop mounds of snow in the shortest days.
It's falling asleep beside my exhausted wife as the rain starts to tap against the window. They are brief, deeply felt, and easily missed. As a runner (bare with me), I find joy in the moments immediately after my daily run around the middle eastern suburbs of Melbourne.It's a form of meditation for me and I love every moment of it. The physical pain I choose to push through, the mental anguish I exercise, paired with the music I love and adore running to. (Listening to Jubilee Street is a wild experience running through the streets of Nunawading.)But mostly it's when I finish my run I find a moment of joy.
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When they see me, they all run towards me. I highly recommend making friends with some chickens. What a mystery and ineffable feeling. Or would joy be a feeling, a state or a dream? For me it would be the way to reconcile past, present and future. Or to stop trying to understand what we do not understand and build our own time.
So when I still myself, like right now, and turn inwards, up it bubbles, tearing up my eyes and catching in my chest. Making me smile and feel in love with everything as it is. Norton Music Factory brings me joy. 3 minutes drive from my house, everyone greets each other, building a strong community, joy you. So says this 51 year old born-again high school teacher, both my sons passed, I have no more children, on paper there is no joy, but there it is. By seeing joy, and sometimes, even causing it in the eyes and hearts of those I love.
My dog is snoring right now and it makes me smile. I connected and made progress with my horse the other day and it fills my cup for the week. Meanwhile, this fuels me and calms me for the not so simple and uncomplicated relationship with the adolescents in the house.
Behind the dunes were the remainders of a pine tree forest, largely destroyed by a forest fire some years ago. Silent now, after a long day, we passed the empty and deadly space, with just a few flamed trees that seemed to have survived. We saw emerging shrubbery, and in between, here and there, young shoots of pine trees taking root. I find my joy in the fragmented moments of each day.
Around fifteen years old, when things felt new and vital. When music and art and theatre was the most urgent thing, every day was a fresh page and something to be wondered at. When I felt like the first person that ever felt love or pain or God or joy. If I can channel her, even a little, a grey day with nothing to do becomes an opportunity to stomp through Soho in the rain on an adventure. A stranger holding the door open becomes the most profound human kindness.
Shared purpose in a task done with others. Joy is having the time to notice, to notice the kookaburra quietly sitting high in the tree, then upon spotting the worm in the grass, skilfully diving for it. It's having the time and clarity to allow myself to respond to what's around me. It's being part of bigger picture, but being content to be alone.Joy is the freedom to allow myself to be amazed, delighted and fulfilled, unencumbered by a need to change things.
It may be seen, all too often, that people try and fail to feel Joy in the big prescribed moments in life they were trained to expect to find them in, only to arrive at these moments and inevitably ask themselves, “is that it? Is that all I’ve been waiting for? How could something as fragile, as ephemeral, as Joy ever hope to survive against a lifetime’s worth of expectation and pressure?
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