On Finding Joy

I recently stumbled across a quotation that said, "Learn to feel joy."

That's it. Learn to feel joy.

(Dramatic pause here).

At first glance, it didn't seem like all that profound of a statement. But the more I pondered it, the more I liked it. In fact, I liked it so much that I taped it up on my bedroom mirror. It sums up the essence of the very thing I try to do each day: To live this life in front of me. To love it, not tolerate it. And that is anything but simple.

It's not that I don't have joyful things in my life. My life is so full of things that fill me up that it's almost a little ridiculous. Two healthy, happy children to hug and kiss each day. A husband who is also my best friend. A job that I love so much it truly feels like play. A beautiful house. A healthy body. A car, food in my fridge, clothes to wear. Joy, joy, joy.

But I don't always feel joyful. Cognitively, I know that I've pretty much got it made. But I sometimes struggle to emotionally connect to that reality. I've gotten better, though. These days, I'm feeling more joy than I've ever felt before. I think it's because I'm discovering my own little joy formula: those things that I *must* do to feel the joy that exists inside my life. What are those things? I'm so very glad you asked (I was going to tell you anyway).

I blog. Blogging has become a form of self therapy for me. It helps me sort through my feelings, step back from the nitty gritty details of daily life and regain perspective. And I *love* up the comments I get in response to the things that I write. Not because I crave the validation (well, a little bit because of that), but because it's an awesome feeling to connect with others across space and time all while sitting here on the couch in my living room. And there is just something about knowing that my words have connected with someone else's journey that lifts me up.

I run. Correction: I ran. This summer, I was up to three miles at a time. And oh, it felt good. I learned to push through the feelings that I couldn't go one step further. To tolerate feeling crappy, to accept it as part of the moment, to trust that I could do the very thing I was sure I could not. And the runner's high when I got done? Freakin' awesome. But something happened along the way (it got hot, my husband returned to football practice and left me a single mom, I got lazy) and I stopped running. So now I'm back to walking. And although I don't get that same runner's high, walking is still an absolutely essential part of feeling good. When I start to feel decidedly unjoyful, it's often because I've skipped my walk for too many days in a row.

I remind myself to let go of the idea that worry helps. Many of us subconsciously believe that worrying about something will magically keep it from happening. We hold our worries in the back of our mind as we go throughout our day, convinced that this somehow protects us. And when the things we worry about *don't* happen, we attribute this to the fact that we worried about them. Which only reinforces our belief that worry helps. So then we worry some more. This works well, except for the fact that it doesn't really work at all. Worry doesn't actually help. And worse, it prevents us from actually engaging in the moment that's right in front of us. I put this little nugget of wisdom in action this past week after I dropped off my (tearful) Joseph at his first day of kindergarten and my (crying) Baby Girl at her new daycare. I could have spent my day worried about them, and in the past I would have. Instead, I consciously let it go and enjoyed my day at work. At the end of the day, I got to return to them, inhale their sweet scents as I swooped them into hugs, and hear all about their days (which were wonderful, by the way). Joy indeed.

I read. I love everything about books. Their smell, their weight in my hand, the way a brand new book creaks slightly when you open it. And I love the power of a book to take me to a different place and time. To open my eyes to new thoughts and experiences and perspectives. To shift my perspective so that, after reading a book for just a little while, I can return to the day in front of me with a new appreciation for what I have.

I try not to expect too much. One of the paradoxes of this whole joy thing is the recognition that every moment isn't going to be chock full of joy. In fact, most moments really aren't all that incredibly exciting or pleasurable. It took me a while to learn this. I think I'd envisioned most motherhood activities being inherently joyful. But really, much of motherhood is mundane and repetitive and, well, kind of boring. Expecting too much is a recipe that has disappointment written all over it. Instead, I try to take the moments for what they are, dirty floors, snotty noses and all. Joy has a way of creeping into the most mundane moments just when you've stopped looking for it.

I escape. When I've really had it, when my brain is full and my body is tired, I stop. I don't clean, I don't blog, I don't read, I just plain don't. The only thing I do is turn on the TV and disconnect. If I'm lucky, there's a Real Housewives Marathon on and I sit on the couch and don't move a muscle for three hours while I watch the drama unfold. The irony of this strategy is that it needs to be applied the most when I feel the least like I can afford to use it. It's when I'm feeling the most overwhelmed, the least self-confident, the most in need of action that I make myself stop. And sit. And watch. The next day, I'm almost always ready for action again.

I consciously shift my perspective. Dirty dishes waiting to be cleaned mean that I got to feed my children. A trip to the physician's office means I have access to the health care and the medicine I need to care for my children. Piles of laundry mean my children have clothes to wear. You get the drift. This strategy works best when I've already used other strategies to help clear my head a bit. Otherwise, I just end up feeling guilty and grumpy, and that's not good for anyone involved.

I pull myself out of my head. I have a terrible habit of living inside my head. I compose blog posts, analyze voicemails from work, mentally review my to-do list, plan the next activity, try to think of a witty response to a facebook post, yadda, yadda, yadda. But when I'm living in my head, I have a tendency to treat my children as interruptions and I hate that. I try to counteract this by making myself see, really see, what is in front of me. It usually works to smell my baby's skin. Or watch joy unfold on my son's face when I kneel down to really pay attention to what he is showing me.

I go to church. Beyond the obvious filling up of my spiritual cup, church is a place where I go to find my mom. It reminds me of the Sundays we spent in our own church, singing the songs, passing the peace, and waiting for the sermon to begin so that my mom would hand me a tic-tac to suck on. My bribe of choice for my own children is gummies, but there is something very calming about repeating the rituals of my childhood. Much of my mom is gone, but she remains in those rituals. And this brings me peace. And in peace, there is much joy.

I connect with other moms. Mommy bloggers, play dates for mommies (er, for the kids), and girls nights out (my personal favorite). All comprised of other moms who commiserate with me, encourage me, and laugh with me.


So how about you? What's in your recipe for joy?