First things first: remembering that the world is not actually a trash fire.
We still have clean water that we can drink, bathe in, make coffee from. We still have food in the fridge, a roof over your head, something to love - whether that something is a person, a pet, a project, a new Netflix show.
We still have beautiful things to see, whether you can get in your car and go look at them in (masked) person or pour over your pictures or search the internet for stunning pictures other people have taken.
There are always good people in the world, people doing their best to love and make things and rest and take care of others and show up in powerful ways that are for the good of humanity. Those people always exist. If you’re exhausted, you can look for the helpers. If your tank is full, you can be the helper. In whatever way suits you and your disposition. (There are as many ways to help as there are people on this planet.)
It’s easy to get caught up in what’s going on out there, but we have to step back - turn off the news, turn off the twitter, turn off the external voices - for significant periods of time so that our nervous system can calm the F down, so we can take care of ourselves, our people, our pets, our homes. Tend the creative fire. Slow your brain. Give yourself plenty of space to rest and sleep and make nice, nourishing meals. Bonus round: using the cloth napkins reserved for company BECAUSE YOU DESERVE NICE NAPKINS TOO. And also, no one’s really having company right now.
Tending to your joy looks like choosing a thought that feels a little better than the one you’re thinking right now.
Examples:
“The world is a goddamn trash fire.” —> “I have what I need, I see where people are helping, I am going to do whatever I can today to take care of myself.”
“I’m worried about money.” —> “I always have what I need and often have a lot of what I want and I trust that will continue.”
“I’m worried about a loved one’s health.” —> “Everyone has their own journey and who am I to say that their life journey is wrong?”
(I know it’s tempting to punch someone when they use the word “journey” in relation to health, whether it’s yours or a loved one’s, but 1) when my dad died it genuinely helped to remember that he has his own life path and maybe I shouldn’t judge it because it wasn’t what I wanted and 2) you can always use a different word.)
Tending to your joy looks like moving your body, in the fresh air if possible.
This is not a revolutionary concept, but it’s so easy to forget how good it feels to take a walk in the trees, to swing your arms and breathe the chilly air, and feel ideas spring to life while listening to some good music.
I say that as I’m planning to skip today’s walk, because its gloomy and it’s the balsamic moon and I haven’t been resting much. (The three or four days right before the new moon is a good time to plan rest and avoid pushing yourself.)
Tending to your joy looks like doing whatever feels fun right now. If fun feels like a stretch, doing whatever feels like a giant wheeze of relief.
When I’m facing down an epic to-do list (I’m learning how to not put so much damn pressure on myself but that cruise liner has been sailing for over forty years so it’s taking some time to turn in the choppy waters), it always helps to scan the list and ask myself “What feels like fun right now?” Or if fun is a stretch, “What can I do easily right now?”
If you need to rest, but you’re so hyped up on internet comments or so wracked with anxiety that the idea of going to sleep feels like asking your car to turn into a unicorn made of jellybeans, scan the options to see what feels best. Watching a Pixar movie? Reading a book? Listening to a meditation? Revisiting your favorite comedy special? Imagining your enemies getting paper cuts? Take whatever rest feels possible.
Tending to your joy looks like turning off anything that needs regular recharging.
We know this. But how often do we do it? I talk about it all the damn time, but it’s fairly rare that I take my phone and laptop and stick them in a closet for 24 hours. But whenever I do, I feel like I’ve been sprinkled with magic fairy dust. It makes it easier to relax, on every level. These days, turning off anything that emits light or has an opinion about the world is better than anti-anxiety medication. I know because I’ve tried both.
Joy can be found in any moment. Rest can be found in any moment. Ease can be found in any moment.
Fine, maybe not when you’re running from a stampeding warthog, but stampeding warthogs are rare enough that I feel comfortable committing that idea to writing.
Honestly, I didn’t really believe it myself until I experienced enough moments of relief and joy and ease in awful circumstances - parent dying, day after a breakup, etc - that I realized it is possible, especially when you have no choice but to surrender everything you think and hope for and understand. That’s when those moments of joy and relief creep in.
Surrendering - surrendering fear, worry, angst, fear, righteous indignation - often looks like choosing the next thought that feels better, the next thing that feels fun. Because doing that means you’re surrendering the old way of being, the way that says Reality Requires Suffering.
Suffering is not required. Surrendering is always possible. Joy can be found in a glass of water, a walk, a remote control. Joy can be found in letting yourself give up on something in favor of something that lights a fire in your blood. Or sounds vaguely better than that other thing.
Sometimes joy comes from committing to one step up from awful. Because if you keep climbing the staircase, you’ll get somewhere good.
