Creating Joy

Three years ago, after great loss, I found myself in the midst of a season of more painful firsts than I thought my heart could hold—my first anniversary without a husband, my first Thanksgiving and Christmas without a husband, sister or dear friend. My sister’s first birthday without her here. And then my first birthday on my own–all in the span of four months. Things that I’d always looked forward to like getting up early in the morning when the house was still and quiet to put the turkey in the oven and favorite holiday movies that I’d snuggled up on the couch to watch with loved ones now caused me anxiety. What if attempting these things just stirred up all the sorrow? Would it be even worse if I just felt empty or was met with numbness? And then, from within, I heard this very clear message: Create the conditions for joy, and trust that it will return to you.

And so, I proceeded by completing rituals and traditions that seemed like they still might hold meaning and attempting to create new ones. In time, incrementally–sometimes imperceptibly—it began to return. I would feel joy rise up, often quietly. More and more often, it would stay a little while. Glowing light on autumn leaves…the gurgling sounds of my chickens discussing their foraging in the yard…my doggie’s soft, warm breath on my neck where she slept snuggled up next to me…creating something with words or paints just for myself… . These became my Little Joys. This became the time of Renaming and Reclaiming the Little Joys. I continue to work on this to this day—feeling the anxiety start to rise up in my throat, acknowledging it and then shifting my focus to something more joyful. Noticing my heart sinking into a bit of sorrow, saying “yes” to it and then “but there’s so much more that holds a bit of joy.”

This strange Covid year, my joy is my Christmas porch that allows me to sit and visit with my family from a safe distance. It is the welcome simplicity and the rejection of shopping and prepping. It is the thought of a silent walk through the woods on Christmas Day. It is not a rejection of the sadness, but an acknowledgement that both joy and sadness are a part of the depths of me that are nurtured by the light and the darkness. It is the knowledge that I may not be able to control when either chooses to fill me, but that if I intentionally create the conditions for joy, it will always have a place to come.

As if conjured up by my draft of this post, the most amazing thing just happened. I scooted out the door for my walk before I lost the daylight and ended up by the water at sunset. As I approached the water there was an enormous “whoosh!” and rustling overhead, like a wind blowing through leaves or a spirit passing by. And then, over the water, I saw this mass of swirling, dancing expanding and contracting black starlings and was awestruck. I was witnessing my very own murmuring of starlings!

The documenter in me was briefly tempted to take a video. The meaning maker in me thought it could be a message from my sister that wondrous things still lie ahead. In the end, I just stood as still and present as possible noting the goosebumps on my skin and allowing the tears to well up in my eyes. What amazing simple joys the Universe offers!

Whatever sadness you might be sitting with in this year of way less and far too much, know that joy is always available to you. You only need to create the conditions for it and then receive it when it presents itself.