Joy is not happy.
Nor is joy unhappy.
Certainly not.
Yet what is it called
when joy is not joy-filled?
Melancholy?
Bittersweet?
For there is a hint of joy in those.
Nearly imperceptible
but there nonetheless.
If this were not so
what would the longing be longing for?
What could sweeten the bitter better
than Joy?
Joy is there.
Yes, even there.
Joy lives in the most unlikely places.
Joy exists even when not joy-filled.
When melancholy.
When bitter longing for sweet.
No matter where.
No matter what.
Joy is joy.
Alive, with the capacity to be so much more.
Joy, where is your hope?
Hope, what shall you do with joy?
For what is joy when not joy-filled?
Melancholy.
Bittersweet.
But alive.
Even in the most unlikely of places.
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy
From time to time I, Joy, receive a compliment that sounds exactly like this: “Your parents sure knew what they were doing when they named you.”
Or this: “You sure live up to your name.”
While I am flattered by such a comment, I am not compelled by a sense of obligation. Because my name is Joy, I do not have to be happy. In fact, sometimes, I am not. Sometimes being Joy means being sad or angry. Like last week, for instance, when my name could have been Distraught. That day I was distraught for the best part of an afternoon – until I learned that our insurance company was wrong (as I had suspected). We did not owe them thousands of dollars for four months worth of wrongfully paid healthcare expenses related to Stross’ daily living needs. Thank, God. We did not.
Once they verified the clerical error, I was relieved. Then, almost as immediately, I became extremely tired. Nineteen years worth of tired, in fact. For no matter how well my life might move along for stretches at a time, I know that I can be thrown into instant emotional upheaval over something as seemingly benign as a clerical error – even when I am 98% certain the error is not ours. A 2% portion of doubt can cause a unique version of terror (“Is this the moment we become financially bankrupt?”), even renewed grief. That will always be true. As the mother of a child born with life-shaping disabilities, I am familiar with sorrow and acquainted with grief.
In the instance I shared above, renewed grief looked like this: After the insurance representative apologized for the error, I began to cry. I cried awkward phone tears – the kind that choke your normal speaking voice and have the potential to scare the person who cannot see you. So I forced myself to speak. I didn’t want her to think I was crazy.
“I just want to thank you,” I said. “We will have a new insurance company in a few days, and our family will miss your company.” Sob. Choke. “You have taken good care of us. Especially our son. Thank you for that.” Choke. More tears. More forced words. “And I just want you to know we will miss you.”
It was her turn. She began gently and quietly.
“Oh. Thank you so much. That is very kind of you to say. We will miss you, too. … You know, I don’t even think I got your name before they passed your call to me.”
Now I had to forcefully push out words while trying to hold back a sob ... and a laugh.
“It’s … Joy.”
The irony of my name made me laugh. I could laugh. So could she – at meeting such a miserable Joy. Momentarily miserable, at least.
Let me be perfectly clear: My son’s life is not misery; I am not miserable because of him. Sometimes life brings things that make specific moments miserable. I learned how that can be so, courtesy of Stross, and I thank him for that.
But tonight I am thankful for a new type of understanding. Tonight I am aware that I am not happy. Not really. That also does not mean I am sad. Or depressed. I am just not happy – not content. And it has nothing to do with my children or my husband. It has everything to do with me.
Clarity about my unhappiness began September 7 when I was in Waverly to lead a media relations workshop for rural emergency first responders. The evening before the meeting, I enjoyed supper with some good friends who live there – reconnecting, through them, with periods in my life when I lived with a sense of purpose. Then, before returning home after the workshop the next day, I visited the Wartburg College campus to pick up a dessert and a cup of coffee for the road.
I didn’t go straight to the coffee house, however. I began walking campus. I let my feet take me places that looked new and yet were familiar. I felt the wonder of knowing exactly where I was, even when places looked different. Once I even tried to get lost, but I couldn’t. I knew exactly where I was going even when wandering aimlessly. And I loved the assurance of it.
Please understand. My assurance wasn’t about the physical location of my body as it moved through a familiar place. It came from another dimension. Moving through that familiar place helped me connect to a version of myself who knew exactly who she was and what she believed possible.
I found Happy Joy again. I had not realized I had left her behind.
Happy Joy has actually been with me for at least four decades – long past my days as a coed on that college campus. Of course, I remember her during our engagement, our wedding, our honeymoon, newlywed life, a first job, a second job that began to look like a career, a move back to Iowa, a job that was the start of a career, Stross’ birth (yes, Stross’ birth), and even during Stross’ early years.
Happy Joy even hung in there through some radical career changes for both Mark and me that resulted in a move to a town we likely would have never chosen to live in had a career opportunity for Mark not found him in an uncommon way. Happy Joy loved seeing Mark uncommonly happy, and she loved the challenge of finding a way to stay happy herself. She definitely loved giving birth to her second child, another son who brought her the opportunity to experience what other women did when they gave birth.
Now this is where I need to stop trying to explain where Happy Joy went; because, as I said earlier, she has been with me all along. What I have come to understand most recently, however, is this: Her happiness has not been a priority and that has adversely affected her – me – and our family. It might even be harming her and her future.
Because I know people who have wrestled with depression, I know avoiding depression is impossible. Fortunately, I am not depressed. But, as I said, I am not happy. Not really.
There is good news in this. Coming to the realization that I am not happy has helped me identify what gets me there: a sense of purpose, an opportunity to be an agent of change – positive change – that affects someone else’s life in a way they had not thought possible. Happy Joy shows up when I am being the truest version of myself, and in doing so, I cause something to happen that only I could make possible.
I can list examples of what that has looked like in the past. But I don’t want to here. My personal inventory is simply that: personal. Will I share it with you one day? You bet, but it will have to wait until I finish connecting all my dots. I might need to wander a few more familiar pathways and allow myself to reconnect to a few more times and places where I can remember what it has meant to be me.
But the best news is this: I have invited Happy Joy to join me on this journey. And I have given her a new name: Hope.
Or this: “You sure live up to your name.”
While I am flattered by such a comment, I am not compelled by a sense of obligation. Because my name is Joy, I do not have to be happy. In fact, sometimes, I am not. Sometimes being Joy means being sad or angry. Like last week, for instance, when my name could have been Distraught. That day I was distraught for the best part of an afternoon – until I learned that our insurance company was wrong (as I had suspected). We did not owe them thousands of dollars for four months worth of wrongfully paid healthcare expenses related to Stross’ daily living needs. Thank, God. We did not.
Once they verified the clerical error, I was relieved. Then, almost as immediately, I became extremely tired. Nineteen years worth of tired, in fact. For no matter how well my life might move along for stretches at a time, I know that I can be thrown into instant emotional upheaval over something as seemingly benign as a clerical error – even when I am 98% certain the error is not ours. A 2% portion of doubt can cause a unique version of terror (“Is this the moment we become financially bankrupt?”), even renewed grief. That will always be true. As the mother of a child born with life-shaping disabilities, I am familiar with sorrow and acquainted with grief.
In the instance I shared above, renewed grief looked like this: After the insurance representative apologized for the error, I began to cry. I cried awkward phone tears – the kind that choke your normal speaking voice and have the potential to scare the person who cannot see you. So I forced myself to speak. I didn’t want her to think I was crazy.
“I just want to thank you,” I said. “We will have a new insurance company in a few days, and our family will miss your company.” Sob. Choke. “You have taken good care of us. Especially our son. Thank you for that.” Choke. More tears. More forced words. “And I just want you to know we will miss you.”
It was her turn. She began gently and quietly.
“Oh. Thank you so much. That is very kind of you to say. We will miss you, too. … You know, I don’t even think I got your name before they passed your call to me.”
Now I had to forcefully push out words while trying to hold back a sob ... and a laugh.
“It’s … Joy.”
The irony of my name made me laugh. I could laugh. So could she – at meeting such a miserable Joy. Momentarily miserable, at least.
Let me be perfectly clear: My son’s life is not misery; I am not miserable because of him. Sometimes life brings things that make specific moments miserable. I learned how that can be so, courtesy of Stross, and I thank him for that.
But tonight I am thankful for a new type of understanding. Tonight I am aware that I am not happy. Not really. That also does not mean I am sad. Or depressed. I am just not happy – not content. And it has nothing to do with my children or my husband. It has everything to do with me.
Clarity about my unhappiness began September 7 when I was in Waverly to lead a media relations workshop for rural emergency first responders. The evening before the meeting, I enjoyed supper with some good friends who live there – reconnecting, through them, with periods in my life when I lived with a sense of purpose. Then, before returning home after the workshop the next day, I visited the Wartburg College campus to pick up a dessert and a cup of coffee for the road.
I didn’t go straight to the coffee house, however. I began walking campus. I let my feet take me places that looked new and yet were familiar. I felt the wonder of knowing exactly where I was, even when places looked different. Once I even tried to get lost, but I couldn’t. I knew exactly where I was going even when wandering aimlessly. And I loved the assurance of it.
Please understand. My assurance wasn’t about the physical location of my body as it moved through a familiar place. It came from another dimension. Moving through that familiar place helped me connect to a version of myself who knew exactly who she was and what she believed possible.
I found Happy Joy again. I had not realized I had left her behind.
Happy Joy has actually been with me for at least four decades – long past my days as a coed on that college campus. Of course, I remember her during our engagement, our wedding, our honeymoon, newlywed life, a first job, a second job that began to look like a career, a move back to Iowa, a job that was the start of a career, Stross’ birth (yes, Stross’ birth), and even during Stross’ early years.
Happy Joy even hung in there through some radical career changes for both Mark and me that resulted in a move to a town we likely would have never chosen to live in had a career opportunity for Mark not found him in an uncommon way. Happy Joy loved seeing Mark uncommonly happy, and she loved the challenge of finding a way to stay happy herself. She definitely loved giving birth to her second child, another son who brought her the opportunity to experience what other women did when they gave birth.
Now this is where I need to stop trying to explain where Happy Joy went; because, as I said earlier, she has been with me all along. What I have come to understand most recently, however, is this: Her happiness has not been a priority and that has adversely affected her – me – and our family. It might even be harming her and her future.
Because I know people who have wrestled with depression, I know avoiding depression is impossible. Fortunately, I am not depressed. But, as I said, I am not happy. Not really.
There is good news in this. Coming to the realization that I am not happy has helped me identify what gets me there: a sense of purpose, an opportunity to be an agent of change – positive change – that affects someone else’s life in a way they had not thought possible. Happy Joy shows up when I am being the truest version of myself, and in doing so, I cause something to happen that only I could make possible.
I can list examples of what that has looked like in the past. But I don’t want to here. My personal inventory is simply that: personal. Will I share it with you one day? You bet, but it will have to wait until I finish connecting all my dots. I might need to wander a few more familiar pathways and allow myself to reconnect to a few more times and places where I can remember what it has meant to be me.
But the best news is this: I have invited Happy Joy to join me on this journey. And I have given her a new name: Hope.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Hunting for Eggs
.
Stross made sure we hunted for eggs in my parents' yard this weekend. Kudos to Grandma Fran for her ability to kick into high gear and prepare for the hunt on short notice. Her grandbabies may be teenagers now, but they are not too old to enjoy the harried pace of the hunt.
Chocolate candies, jelly beans, coins.
Mostly pure fun.
And watching Stross navigate the yard while listening to his incessant, delightful chatter? Pure joy.
Involuntary joy.
May you be renewed in this season of renewal.
May you find joy in simple moments.
.
.
Stross made sure we hunted for eggs in my parents' yard this weekend. Kudos to Grandma Fran for her ability to kick into high gear and prepare for the hunt on short notice. Her grandbabies may be teenagers now, but they are not too old to enjoy the harried pace of the hunt.
Chocolate candies, jelly beans, coins.
Mostly pure fun.
And watching Stross navigate the yard while listening to his incessant, delightful chatter? Pure joy.
Involuntary joy.
May you be renewed in this season of renewal.
May you find joy in simple moments.
.
.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Tomorrow, I Begin
I've started to think of tomorrow as the first day of the next leg of my ongoing journey toward self-actualization. You see, I'm starting a course of studies that should lead to a master's degree as a professional educator. I only say "should" to incubate myself should plans go awry. (See, the word "should" again.) That strategy won't work, of course. Still, saying "should" seems to frame my thoughts better than if I'm claiming a foregone conclusion.
Make no mistake. I intend for the course of study I'm embarking on to lead to a master's degree, yet I'm not fully sure what the degree itself will lead to. I hope it leads to a greater understanding of what I'd like to be when I grow up and then the fulfillment of that discovery. It's my seemingly endless search for the answer to: "Who am I now?"
I also hope I continue to find time to blog/vlog in the coming months. Part of who I am seems to be a compulsive sharer of thoughts about everyday life – a life that's lived in a constant struggle for balance, just like everyone else. I was reminded of that on Friday when I was the guest speaker in a college wellness class. My charge was to share what it's like for a family's life to be shaped by the demands of a person with special needs. To make my contributions as relevant as possible, I shaped my discussion using the same seven components of wellness that the students learn about in their academic degree program: intellectual, emotional, spiritual, social, occupational, physical, environmental.
You'll have to watch the vlog to see what question made me cry in class. (Don't worry, I'd warned them it could happen. A tear alert is included in the disclaimers I offer at the start of any speaking engagement.)
The experience reminded me of how challenging (but necessary!) it is to live a balanced life and how the challenge will be exponentially harder in my new version of normal. Tonight's vlog is about those conflicting feelings. As I watched it during editing, I sensed my anxiety mingled with excitement - probably a good balance to have as I prepare for what will start tomorrow.
Not my best conclusion to a blog, but I need to quit writing so I can get to bed. I need a good night's sleep to help me find the balance I know I need.
It's after midnight now, anyway. Today has become tomorrow, and so, I begin.
.
.
Make no mistake. I intend for the course of study I'm embarking on to lead to a master's degree, yet I'm not fully sure what the degree itself will lead to. I hope it leads to a greater understanding of what I'd like to be when I grow up and then the fulfillment of that discovery. It's my seemingly endless search for the answer to: "Who am I now?"
I also hope I continue to find time to blog/vlog in the coming months. Part of who I am seems to be a compulsive sharer of thoughts about everyday life – a life that's lived in a constant struggle for balance, just like everyone else. I was reminded of that on Friday when I was the guest speaker in a college wellness class. My charge was to share what it's like for a family's life to be shaped by the demands of a person with special needs. To make my contributions as relevant as possible, I shaped my discussion using the same seven components of wellness that the students learn about in their academic degree program: intellectual, emotional, spiritual, social, occupational, physical, environmental.
You'll have to watch the vlog to see what question made me cry in class. (Don't worry, I'd warned them it could happen. A tear alert is included in the disclaimers I offer at the start of any speaking engagement.)
The experience reminded me of how challenging (but necessary!) it is to live a balanced life and how the challenge will be exponentially harder in my new version of normal. Tonight's vlog is about those conflicting feelings. As I watched it during editing, I sensed my anxiety mingled with excitement - probably a good balance to have as I prepare for what will start tomorrow.
Not my best conclusion to a blog, but I need to quit writing so I can get to bed. I need a good night's sleep to help me find the balance I know I need.
It's after midnight now, anyway. Today has become tomorrow, and so, I begin.
.
.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Lessons My Son and I Need to Learn
I spoke at a Friends and Family Recognition Dinner at Opportunity Village in Clear Lake, Iowa, today. What a wonderful place with wonderful staff, volunteers and financial supporters.
Mark and I are deeply grateful for the services Stross receives through them. It's clear that those connected to the Village value and respect each person who is benefitting from their services.
Afterward, a man asked if I had the "five things" I mentioned in my speech written within the pages of Involuntary Joy. I don't. He reassured me that he had them written on his napkin and then showed me precisely that.
In case anyone else finds them worth noting -- either on a napkin or something else -- here are the five life lessons I am aware that both Stross and I need to keep working on:
1 - Brief encounters are deceiving: Don't judge anyone by what you see-or even hear. Get to know them and accept them for who they are. They are using the skills and abilities they've developed to this point, just like you are. No one's farther down the path - just on a journey different than yours. You should look for the life lessons they can teach you as you continue on your own life's course.
2 - Focus on your abilities and what you can do, not what you cannot. Abilities are the starting point for possibilities. They just are.
3 - Ask for help when in need. This one works best when you've gotten fairly good at #2. Others can help you accomplish things that may seem overwhelming on your own. It's not a sign of weakness to ask for help. On the contrary: It's wisdom at work. Empowerment begins when you facilitate accommodations that can help you overcome things in your path. Don't be satisfied to stay in one place if someone else can help you maneuver a bit farther down the road.
4 - Embrace a way of living and doing that works for you. Your life and how you live it needs to be as unique as you are. This may mean redefining things you used to take for granted: Who comprises family, what measures success, how you regard faith. Something happened that caused your world to feel a bit upside down. It makes sense you'll have gained a new perspective on a lot of things because of that.
5 - Look for joy in the midst of it all - it's there. It really is. Holocaust survivors attest to this truth. Even victims of other horrendous crimes have discovered this truth on their way back from despair. Life is amazing and deeply beautiful. Your life is no exception.
I think everyone has something or someone they can look to as a "joy compass." It's my deep prayer that you find yours. Mine is named Stross. I'll forever be grateful for the lessons he brings my way, even if involuntarily so.
Mark and I are deeply grateful for the services Stross receives through them. It's clear that those connected to the Village value and respect each person who is benefitting from their services.
Afterward, a man asked if I had the "five things" I mentioned in my speech written within the pages of Involuntary Joy. I don't. He reassured me that he had them written on his napkin and then showed me precisely that.
In case anyone else finds them worth noting -- either on a napkin or something else -- here are the five life lessons I am aware that both Stross and I need to keep working on:
1 - Brief encounters are deceiving: Don't judge anyone by what you see-or even hear. Get to know them and accept them for who they are. They are using the skills and abilities they've developed to this point, just like you are. No one's farther down the path - just on a journey different than yours. You should look for the life lessons they can teach you as you continue on your own life's course.
2 - Focus on your abilities and what you can do, not what you cannot. Abilities are the starting point for possibilities. They just are.
3 - Ask for help when in need. This one works best when you've gotten fairly good at #2. Others can help you accomplish things that may seem overwhelming on your own. It's not a sign of weakness to ask for help. On the contrary: It's wisdom at work. Empowerment begins when you facilitate accommodations that can help you overcome things in your path. Don't be satisfied to stay in one place if someone else can help you maneuver a bit farther down the road.
4 - Embrace a way of living and doing that works for you. Your life and how you live it needs to be as unique as you are. This may mean redefining things you used to take for granted: Who comprises family, what measures success, how you regard faith. Something happened that caused your world to feel a bit upside down. It makes sense you'll have gained a new perspective on a lot of things because of that.
5 - Look for joy in the midst of it all - it's there. It really is. Holocaust survivors attest to this truth. Even victims of other horrendous crimes have discovered this truth on their way back from despair. Life is amazing and deeply beautiful. Your life is no exception.
I think everyone has something or someone they can look to as a "joy compass." It's my deep prayer that you find yours. Mine is named Stross. I'll forever be grateful for the lessons he brings my way, even if involuntarily so.
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