

Oh, sure, I might receive jolts of delight throughout the day, like sparklers to brighten my mood. But the full-blown, 1812-Overture-fireworks version of joy? Dancing, singing, bursting-at-the-seams joy? It’s an elusive animal, and I suspect that if I did trap it, like many a wild animal, it would soon wither and die in captivity.
Most likely, my best option is to obliquely set out the welcome mat, not throw the door wide and haul the shy creature that is joy inside by its collar, scolding, “It’s about time you got here!”

What is the alchemical formula to pour into the crucible, creating that delicious elixir of joy?
*****

The pull toward joy is powerful, the longing intense. Vibrant health and wellness, a body that does more than limp along at a functional level, are precursors to joy, in my world. Ought I to dial back my requirements? In order to invite joy, must I change my criteria to fit what appears possible, instead of demanding that joy dance to my tune?
*****

Umm…I think not. When I was in high school, my best friend and I promised each other we would never, ever settle for second best. We were thinking in terms of boyfriends, but in our irrepressible confidence, we extended it to the rest of our world as well.
My 17-year-old self knew something that I’ve forgotten: the certainty that joy is mine without the asking, that first best is the option I deserve and can have, and that I needn’t settle for anything I don’t actually want.
I think I’ll invite my teenage self for a nice cup of tea and a chat. Smart girl, she was. If I opened my ears, I reckon she’d have a thing or two to tell her jaded and borderline cynical current-future self.

