January 28, 2023
It’s possible I’m being too picky, but certain conditions need to be present before joy can come through my emotional doorway. It’s quite basic and perhaps not very spiritual, but my top criteria is a pain-free, mobile body. Without that, the wheel of joy can’t seem to engage with the cog of myself.
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!”
Perhaps I’m not adequately propitiating the gods of joy. What does joy want from me? Does it want me to carry a pocketful of orange-colored crystals, whose vibration is said to match that of joy? Recite an affirmation a thousand times a day? Should I put on a goofy Marx Brothers movie, or shimmy to a Scott Joplin rag?
What is the alchemical formula to pour into the crucible, creating that delicious elixir of joy?
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I want daily joy in my life, not hit-and-miss or now-and-then. Joy is the prescription my higher self offered six months ago to counteract an unwanted condition, and Louse Hay’s recommendation in You Can Heal Your Life concurred. Dr. Peebles dispensed Spirit’s prescription of joy as well. And now, an alternative practitioner whose methods and intuition I highly value has come up with having more “play and fun” as an antidote for what persistently ails me.
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?
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Common “wisdom” holds that the key to life satisfaction is to fully accept the way things are. We’re advised to be content, nay, grateful, with what we are able to manage. In this instance, perhaps I’ll have to settle for dancing my Scott Joplin ragtime jig with my fingertips on my knee, or content myself with humming along.
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.
