Possessing the Secret of Joy — by Sara C.
Confessions of a Former Skeptic
When my boss, Justin, first told me about his idea to “significantly, measurably increase joy and wellbeing in East Boston” a few years ago, I inwardly rolled my eyes and humored him. An idealist if there ever was one, he regularly espouses what I (previously) considered a ‘lollipops-rainbows-unicorns’ worldview, complete with rose colored glasses with an extremely strong prescription.
I, on the other hand, generally move through life cautiously, carefully, and, well, somewhat pessimistically. ‘Prepare for the worst’ is the motto I live by for the most part, with the Stars Wars’ “Imperial March” as my life’s theme song. My friends constantly marvel at how I seem to carry a Target’s worth of stuff in my bag, ready for any disaster that may occur. (Seriously, if there’s ever an alien attack, I (and hopefully Chris Evans) will make it out alive.)
As a kid growing up in an immigrant family, ‘joy’ and ‘happiness’ were foreign concepts: life revolved around God, faith, school, and hard work. According to my parents, there was nothing ever to be sad about as long as there was food on the table, clothes on one’s back, a place to live, and a paycheck to pay for all of it. And of course, bringing home straight A’s. If there were hardships or unhappiness, you simply prayed for the strength to deal with them and if they persisted, you just prayed some more. So, my reaction to hearing Justin speak of increasing joy was, “Typical American.”
To my mind, most people could care less about joy when they’re struggling to support themselves and/or their families. Or when they fall ill. Or when they’re facing eviction. Or when there are people actively invested in making sure you don’t have access or rights to certain things, let alone joy, because of what you look like, where you come from, where you live or who you love. To me, at the end of the day, people were just trying to survive. Joy was the least of their worries. It certainly was mine.
And then there was just the question of what was joy, anyway? Wasn’t it the same as happiness? No? Then what was it exactly? As I listened to his definition (sustained happiness or emotional wellbeing over time. Joy recognizes that life has ups and downs. It embraces difficult emotions and is about emotional resilience), I tuned him out and mentally crossed off items from my to do list. And that was basically what I did every time he brought it up.
Until 2020.
Like so many, especially BIPOC, I mourned and raged against the murders of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery and others. I feared COVID and worried about my health and the health of my loved ones, especially my father who has dementia. Even before that, I had been struggling with my place as a Black Haitian woman in a society that openly embraced white supremacist ideology and made it clear more than ever that I was not welcome. I found myself crying for no reason, even though, really, there was plenty to cry about. I battled chronic insomnia, loneliness, and newly diagnosed diabetes. My faith seemed to fail me. Work no longer mattered. I no longer mattered. I was missing something. Craving something.
At 2am one morning, I recognized it was joy.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had been happy, let alone joyous. As the synapses in my brain awoke to this realization, I blearily searched through my emails for articles on joy Justin had sent me to read, for the joy concept paper I grudgingly worked on with him.
And I devoured them.
So much of what was written resonated in a genuine way for the first time. Flashbacks of conversations that I smugly dismissed surged before my mind’s eye and hit their mark. In the fog of my depression and exhaustion, I cried out for help. First, to God, then to the people who I knew loved me. I was desperate to experience joy and no longer be a walking wound.
It’s been quite the journey since then, one that I’m still on. But in my [redacted] years of life (hey, my age is really none of your business but let’s just say I’ve been 25 for a while 😊), I can honestly say that this is the most peaceful I have felt, the most happy joyous I’ve been. I’m actually a bit of a joy junkie these days and eagerly proselytize every chance I get.
Am I always joyous? Absolutely not. There are days where I’m grumpy or cranky or generally morose. But in those moments, on those days, even when I feel completely alone, I know I can make it through whatever life yeets (yes, this is a deliberate effort to sound cool and ‘happening’) at me.
Perhaps the Bard said it best: “Things won are done, joy’s soul lies in the doing.”
Because that’s the secret of joy: recognizing that even in challenging circumstances, even when I’m unhappy, I have the emotional and mental wherewithal to deal with them. Joy is an active and deliberate choice. It’s constant and not ephemeral. It’s a behavior and practice. It’s not what happens to you but what you do when something happens to you.
Joy came for me that morning many months ago. My sincere wish is that for whoever needs it, it comes for you too.
Sara C. is a fledgling writer with a background in Human Resources and DEIB. When she’s not working, reading, writing, cooking or traveling, she enjoys creating faux wedding sites for herself and her celebrity husband du jour.
This is the 36th post about boosting joy the only way we can: in community. Please share, subscribe, and join our movement by emailing me or supporting East Boston Social Centers. Stay joyful, East Boston.
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