Joy Juice: Drips & Sips

I suck at joy. It’s that simple. It’s a practice I’ve not practiced that much. I’m not good at it, and it’s not comfortable. I don’t prioritize it or even always get what people mean when they talk about joy.

It’s how I used to feel about self-care, to be honest. Kind of clueless and a little (lot) judgmental.

Til recently, joy mostly seemed a luxury thing, like cashmere or caviar for the entitled and well-to-do who couldn’t manage to get by on mere safety, security, and stability. To me, those who seemed to be all about the joy and the finer things seemed frivolous, oblivious, or even greedy because it seemed they were out of touch with how many people were just trying to manage.

Not today.

Today, I’m trying to stalk joy and get every sip or drip of joy juice I can suck out of life. I don’t think doing so will make me less of an advocate, less compassionate, or less sensitive. In fact, I hope some daily joy gives me sustenance, grounding, and genuine gratitude for the whole life thing, not the gratitude that seems manufactured, forced, or insincere.

My respect for joy is clear, but my own practices are still tentative, cautious, and hard to prioritize.

I’ve got “work” to do on courting and allowing joy. But today at least, I do believe what the now late but still and always astonishingly great Mary Oliver wrote in Swan:

“Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

She didn’t write those words as a hedonist or an aristocrat who had never known struggle. She didn’t write those words and forget the world is dangerous, unfair, and brutal at times – sometimes – often.

She wrote them knowing precisely that.

“There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power or the world.”

I understand this now. I feel it in my bones.

But I didn’t always.

My friend Kathy used to say, “I’m a militant voice for joy,” and I’d roll my eyes a little bit inside and also be stunned. I’d think, “Who gets to rally or rage for joy when people are without food, fairness, or safety?”

I didn’t get it and couldn’t relate to her words or her passion. It seemed like she was talking about some flower or bird from another continent that I’d not ever heard of. It seemed important to her, but it seemed entirely abstract to me.

At the time, I was mostly trying not to feel like dying in my sleep would be a relief because the business of living seemed like something that required skills I didn’t have or know how to acquire no matter how much I tried.

I wasn’t even imagining every being happy. I just wanted to not be suffering, to be without pain, anxiety, or grief. All I wanted was some measure of peace and that, for me, was a high enough rung to reach for. Joy seemed reserved for those who started out in a different place.

Joy, to me seemed like gourmet food, expensive cookware, and fancy pots, pans and dishes when I still scrambling the kitchen of my bones for peanut butter, white bread and something to spread it with and then help me swallow it down… water, probably, but milk if I was lucky.

Being a mother changed me.

There is nothing more than I like hearing than my daughter’s laughter, or chatter, when she’s swept away in a conversation or a joke and is being silly, playful, and relaxed. To see her head into dance practice, tired and stressed by school or whatever, and then to see her an hour or two later taking big breaths and with her shoulders down and her spirit settled.

Play and joy are a tribute to aliveness. To see people smile, kiss, dance or hug, to gather, even in mourning, but to connect is a type of joy as well, not happiness or glee, but a way of saying that something substantial remains and can’t be stolen or taken from life even when there’s been trauma, tragedy, and adversity.

That is triumphant. That is a miracle. That is the point of living. It’s true we need to be safe and secure. It’s true survival is serious and sometimes all consuming. This is also true.

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it.”

For those of us who have spent most of our lives scanning for threat, clawing or fighting our way to safety, happiness, peace, and joy can feel strange.

I think, now that I’m past 50, now that I’m lucky enough to not be in a daily fight with anxiety, battling my body, moods, sensations or reactions, I understand the ease and grace in which many others routinely live. It doesn’t make me forget those who go without, those who are suffering, those still in agony or anguish just to get through. It’s the opposite, it makes me more determined that all should know joy.

That same friend Kathy used to say “Joy is a birthright.” Those words also seemed like crazy talk. I finally understand what she meant, what she was after, how for her, safety, security, and stability, without joy, was not enough of a victory.

She was, in fact, shooter higher for herself, for me, and for survivors and non-survivors and saying we are all entitled to joy. I believe we can be a militant voice for joy and still be warriors, advocate, and those who care for social justice.

Now anyhow…

Oliver’s words acknowledge fear. The title says, Don’t Hesitate” and I’m guessing, it’s because, she knows that those of us who most need joy might not know how to grab it, accept it, embrace or allow it. Maybe, her words are geared specifically towards those of us most perplexed by joy.

She left us instructions.

“Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty.”

She’s not vague. She says:

“Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

I dare not argue with Oliver.

Author’s Note: I’ve not shared my writing for months. Writing delights, excites, relaxes, and energizes me. But, like exercise, it’s something that goes out the window when I’m swamped by single-parenting and work. So, I’ve promised myself to return to writing in 2019 and not worry about perfect, polished, and publishing. That means, if I feel like writing I’m going to free-write and post to my blog even before tinkering, rewrites, and polishing.

Free-writes tend to be written all at once, stream of consciousness, and not done with lots of planning or editing. They are considered pre-writing by some, to loosen up, and get ready to write. But for some, they are the whole deal, the entire point, and a way to connect with soul, self, and voice. For me, free-writing is For me, it’s pure play, expression, and experimentation. It’s not always logical and sometimes it’s spiritual or sacred because I discover ideas, feelings, and stuff I didn’t know I was thinking, feeling, or realizing.

Because this is a public blog, I’ll run the words through Grammarly before I hit the publish button. I have been told more than once that the spelling and grammar errors are painful to see, offend some, and I get that and can be more considerate while still honoring the more raw vibe of the writing.

I hope you will feel inspired or inclined to let yourself play on the page without too much worry or thought of anything but how it feels for you to do. If you care to share, after that, about your sips or drips of joy, and what that sparks in you, please do. That’s fun to read and see. But if you need to send your words to the shredder, keep them private, and only for you, please know that matters most of all, in my book, because it honors you.