Joy is Overrated

Brussels sprouts bring me joy.

My friend Nira recently asked me where I find JOY in my life. She took me by surprise and I didn’t know what to say.

Questions like that sometimes leave me with a grim feeling of inadequacy and the fear that I have a cold and icy heart. Because the truth is, joy is not really an emotion in my day-to-day repertoire. Where I live (Marin County) someone you just met at a cocktail party is more likely to ask you about your level of joy than what you do for a living. This is a good thing, in many ways. People here really value SOUL and SPIRIT and JOIE DE VIVRE.

I’m kind of a party pooper though, because I honestly don’t really aspire to joy. I mean, joy is nice. It’s good to feel elated and ecstatic and happy as fuck.

But consider this: I recently edited an article for a psychologist client who specializes in post traumatic stress disorder. She wrote about how, for those who have experienced deep trauma, the biochemical feeling of joy and excitement can feel awfully close to the adrenaline-induced feeling of terror and anxiety. For this reason, PTSD victims often don’t seek out excitement.

I am not a PTSD victim and I can’t say my life has been all that traumatic, but I can relate to this concept. There is an edginess to joy that is unnerving. Partly because it’s so terribly fleeting. Think about it. What is the longest amount of time you have ever experienced joy for? Eckart Tolle wrote about it in The Power of Now: love is the flip side of hate. And joy is the flip side of suffering. Extreme emotions, both.

And then there’s the sleeper hit state of being: CONTENTMENT.

Budapest brings me joy. (I am the only person she brings joy, which makes it even more special. For everyone else, she is a harbinger of pain and fear.)

Contentment is when you’re not super up; you’re not down; you’re just good. Contentment, in my limited knowledge and experience, is what Buddhists strive for. Contentment is when I’m sitting on the couch watching Modern Family and drinking tea, and the cat comes over and sits in my lap and starts purring. Contentment is when nothing really shitty has happened today and I don’t have PMS. Contentment is a fresh green juice from Whole Foods on my way to an acupuncture treatment. Contentment is a good novel. Contentment is when I take a moment to pause and take note that I am fed, warm, dry, and just fine. (Thanks also to Nira for that little first world reminder.)

Tea brings me joy. Especially black tea. Which I can’t drink right now. Bleak.

Because I’m not a joy chaser, you won’t catch me hitting the slopes for some exhilarating snowboarding action in the winter. I have never been to a rave (or taken ecstasy, for that matter). I’m not even much of a dancer.

The things I do for “fun” reflect this some-say-glass-half-full attitude of mine. I read books, I watch shitty television on my laptop, I cook, I go to the farmer’s market, I dream up recipes for my imaginary skincare company, I go for walks with friends, I take myself on movie dates and sneak homemade popcorn into the theater.

I’m good.