Joy

Joy. This word and what it means has been rolling around in my head and heart for several years now. Joy has felt elusive, out of reach and not totally clear to me what it is or how to describe it. Yet, joy kept beckoning me, calling me to explore this emotion and state of being more deeply. As I have set my intentions for this next year, this word has continued to return to me. So here I am, writing about joy, thinking, analyzing and trying to “figure it out.”

On a recent three-day silent meditation retreat at Holy Wisdom Monastery, I was surprised by the joy and lightness I experienced. The poem “Joy For No Reason” by Danna Faulds, replaying in my mind, as I sat quietly and walked around the monastery grounds. It was if, when I stepped back and created space in my life for true presence and attention, joy rose up from within, wanting to be noticed.

Joy is ordinary. Joy is extraordinary. Joy is connection. Joy is presence. Joy is noticing the bright red cardinal out on the bird feeder, vibrant amidst the dull gray of winter. Joy is my 3 year old holding my head in his hands and saying, “I love you Mom.” Joy is the first sip of coffee in the morning. Joy is watching my husband belt out a Taylor Swift song. Joy is a simple walk with a friend. Joy is curling up with a cozy blanket and a book.

I love how Ross Gay described joy on the We Can Do Hard Things Podcast. He said, “Joy is connection. Joy is actively practicing entanglement. The feeling we have when we are entangled with one another. Joy is the evidence of practicing connection.”

Joy is a practice. Joy is how we pay attention with intention. Joy is always present but so easily missed. Joy is connection.

In the work that I do with folks who are experiencing grief and loss I regularly tell them that as we open to grief and sorrow, we also build our capacity to open to joy and connection. I most definitely believe this AND I haven’t been practicing this in a way that feels true. I almost find it easier to open to the grief, loss and pain than to joy. Joy feels so utterly vulnerable, yet so deeply connected to living a wholehearted life.

I endeavor to practice joy each day. To pay attention to the ordinary and extraordinary. To stay open to connection and entanglement with myself, others and our wider world.

What does a practice of joy look like for you?

What ordinary moments bring you joy?

What stories, beliefs or thoughts limit your ability to experience joy?