Remembering Joy

Many of us have hit the wall on new delight.

We look for happiness, or at least a little relief. Life got full and hard faster than our self-actualization could keep up. Looking outside of ourselves for peace, purpose, and belonging hasn’t seemed to work for very long. The rules of acceptance continually change. The finish line keeps moving.

How do we find our purpose in life?
How do we find peace?

I have found that our pursuit of happiness is less about discovering and more about remembering what has brought us joy.

Often we are drawn toward things that feel good because our system recognizes safety there. We relax. We soften. We remember ourselves a little.

At the same time, many of us remain attached to what is familiar even when it doesn’t feel good, because familiar pain can feel safer than the unknown.

As children, joy often came naturally.

Playgrounds at recess on a sunny day are a good example of joy bursting out all over the place. Racing to the swing set. Playing tag and hide-and-seek. Running, jumping, yelling. The delighted shrieks when the cold hose water hits your skin on a hot day.

As a child, I loved people and I loved life. I loved dancing, singing, laughing, exploring with myself and with others. I loved being in groups working toward something together. Playing Red Rover with the neighborhood gang, arms flung wide open, heart bursting with joy as I ran across the grass.

I have always loved real, honest human connection.

But alongside childhood delight came the outside world. Rules. Expectations. Roles. Customs. We learned how to behave in order to belong.

As a child I felt like it was my job to save the world, to save people’s souls. It was a very big job and I was completely up for it. As I got older, I got caught in the cycle of giving so much that I was no longer open to receiving.

I loved deeply. I felt connected to the people I poured myself into. What I didn’t realize was that I was slowly becoming depleted.

I gave more and more, hoping that eventually I would feel like I had finally done enough. Then maybe I could rest. Maybe someone would finally be there to hold me.

The more desperate my pursuit of happiness became, the further I was from my joy.

Over time I coiled into a life of self-loathing and loss of personal power. I wanted to be happy again. I wanted to get back to the person I knew myself to be at my happiest.

Eventually it became too painful to remain the same.

My first step was simple, but it changed everything.

I began looking at myself in the mirror. Gently raising my gaze to meet my own eyes, I would say:
“I love you exactly as you are.”

I was not going to change overnight. But for the first time in a very long time, I stopped abandoning myself.

In that moment, my present self chose compassion for the person standing there. She was the accumulation of a whole life lived up to that point. Instead of sneering at her in disgust, as I once had, I chose loving acceptance.

Loving acceptance offered safety.

Safety allowed me to soften.

Softening allowed me to move forward with loving awareness and compassionate curiosity.

I no longer believe joy is something we must chase endlessly outside ourselves.

I think much of healing is remembering what once brought us fully alive and becoming safe enough to return.