Happiness Asks, Joy Gives

Yesterday, I went to a birthday party. There was a pool, there was a barbecue, there were palm trees and cacti, and children running amok.

While you can’t accurately judge a person’s happiness based on observing them at a party, a lot of them looked happy. There was talk of the next baby, the next home, the next job. Which I think adds to happiness, because it isn’t necessarily a measure of not being where you want to be, but a measure of your expansion.

Humans live to evolve and expand and get excited about what’s next.

Because I like to sit alone on sunny outdoor couches at parties, I spent some time watching other people’s (perceived) happiness and thinking about what would make me happy. Getting a dog, my pilot’s license, getting out amongst humans more - something I’ve always been a bit tentative about, a tendency that tripled during the pandemic and my own health challenges. Shoes may have entered the thought process. My first word was shoes and nothing makes me happier than putting on brand new pink flats, don’t judge me. But I know these things in and of themselves won’t make me happy.

Happiness lies in my response to these things. Happiness lies in my attention to these things and my enjoyment of them.

Happiness isn’t a destination, happiness is a series of joyful moments that we string together over a lifetime, no matter what else is going on in our lives.

Joy is always available.

Even if you have two dollars in the bank, even if dreams don’t come true, even if people are being deeply annoying.

Joy is always an option. But it requires attention. Awareness. An ability to be in a moment, really in it, not thinking about the next thing or whatever’s on your plate at the moment.

When I stopped being alone in the sun because other people began to realize that I am the best at choosing spots to be and came to join me, we started talking about happiness - what it means, what it looks like.

Honestly, happiness feels like a loaded word to me. Possibly because I’m American and “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” has been etched on my brain. Like happiness is something to be chased down, lassoed, and dragged back to your lair on the end of a rope.

Joy feels easier. Because moments of joy are always there for the taking: a daisy busting up through the concrete, a dog licking someone’s face, a skateboarder doing something crazy on a fast moving plank before wiping out at the stop sign.

Joy doesn’t depend on achieved dreams or overcome challenges, it’s there in every moment like a gift the world is trying to give you. You get to choose whether you accept it or not.

For some, happiness is having kids. For some, happiness is not having kids. For some, happiness is achieving the financial security necessary to live a simple life. For some, happiness requires certain substances.

Happiness asks, joy gives.

Happiness, at least the way I hear the word, requires that certain conditions be met. Joy appears unexpectedly, out of nowhere, like a cat jumping on the bed when you thought it was outside chasing humming birds or those humming birds buzzing by the window on their way to visit the roses.

I want to dedicate my life to joy, instead of happiness. Happiness just feels stressful. It requires a certain amount of money and has quite the list of conditions. Joy gets to happen right now because there’s bacon in the kitchen and it’s sunny outside. Technically, those are also conditions, but it’s a much lower bar. Happiness requires years of work for uncertain pay-off.

Joy will give you everything it has right now, just because you exist.

The Many and Varied Uses of Imaginary Jellybeans

I’m not sure how to tell this story without sounding crazy, but if I worried about sounding crazy I'd never open my mouth. So here we go.

On Sunday, I was hiking. It was a beautiful day, with a view of the ocean, verdant valleys, and happy cows (also peeing cows) dotting the hills beside the trail. I wasn’t having any of it. I was tired, I was cranky, and I wasn’t interested in anything related to living life at that time.

As I trudged up and down hike-related peaks and valleys, I finally got over myself enough to ask “How can I have a better time than I’m currently having?” Because I finally remembered that I do have some element of control over how I live my life. Maybe I can’t control the peeing cow, but I can certainly control how much I enjoy this actually very nice Sunday situation in which I find myself.

(Very nice Sunday situation.)

So I asked “How can this [general hand wave in the direction of life] feel better?”

Nothing happened. Because I was cranky, I didn’t really expect it to.

But as I focused on not thinking thoughts and instead on enjoying the view and the way the air felt on my skin, I started to shift out of crankiness and into neutrality and then some semblance of pleasure.

After a bit more plodding through the landscape, something opened up. Maybe I stumbled through a fairy glen or my whimsical brand of imagination fired up or guidance stepped in, I can’t say. And it doesn’t really matter. As I was walking, I got handed a silver basket full of jellybeans. Not the grocery store-corn syrup-red dye number death brand of jellybeans. These were fairy jellybeans. Some were midnight blue speckled with silver stars. Some were that particular turquoise of tropical island ocean. Some were peony pink. And I heard, “You can eat this one for calmness, this one for joy, this one to fall asleep, this one for more money, this one for creative inspiration, this one for delight,” and so on.

So I chose the imaginary jellybean that would help me get over myself and start enjoying my Sunday afternoon hike. I imagined eating it, and the fairy jellybean energy filling me up. It wasn’t like a miracle bean, where suddenly I was skipping through the hills and thrilled with life. But by the end of the hike, I was feeling much better. The day shifted into something absolutely lovely, including my favorite pizza and a really nice glass of wine that I got to drink in the sun. My week since has been significantly better than the week previous.

My point is, whether you believe in angelic support or guidance or your inner wisdom or the support of the universe or the power of your imagination, you always have access to a shift in perspective. You can always adjust how you view and experience things - all you have to do is ask, and trust that the answer will come. Whether that answer comes in the form of a silver basket filled with magic fairy jellybeans or something more prosaic doesn’t matter.

Your imagination is the portal to a better experience. So this is me reminding myself - and you, if that’s helpful - to use it wisely.

How to Find Joy When The World is a Trash Fire

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.

Snake Patrol

I have a snake in my abdomen. 

It started out as a gnarly tar monster coiling around in my stomach, holding onto pain.

Yes, finding a multidimensional black tapeworm in your innards is just as much fun as it sounds.

I met my sticky tar snake in a therapy appointment when we were investigating some suppressed feelings, which is a thing you do in therapy and is also just as much fun as it sounds.

As we sat there on zoom, because pandemic appointments, I opened a door over my belly button for the snake to slither out, taking all the heavy blackness with it. I started feeling lighter and lighter and as the black smoke turned to gray fog and eventually dissipated, all that was left was a small silver snake.

My heavy black horror snake was actually this cute little silver snake bloated with suppressed emotion.

Now my little silver snake friend helps me monitor my energy - specifically, how much I’m absorbing from other people. Then he helps me boot it out of my system. I just have to check into my stomach and see what’s there. If it’s a little silver snake curled up in the corner, I’m good. If the silver snake is clouded by fog or storm clouds, I have some stuff to let go of. If the snake is looking black or bloated, it’s time to do some clearing.

Often what feels heavy and overwhelming, like it would be a bad idea to poke with a stick, is simply something that was trying to help us out and got a little lost along the way. Maybe it took on more than it could handle. Maybe it needed some help and got ignored. Maybe it just needed a rest.

Sometimes monsters turn cute when you give them some love and attention.

Recoding Codependence

In six months, I went from not being sure what the word “codependent” even meant to realizing that unbridled codependence riddled every aspect of my existence.

Here’s what codependence boils down to in my experience: Needing someone else to be okay so that you can be okay.

My codependent tendencies exploded in my face when I moved in with my boyfriend. Sharing a home with a partner will shine a massive search light on any hidden proclivities for Needing Everyone Else To Be In a Great Mood and Also Not Mad At Me Before I Can Feel Safe. Yikes.

Here’s the problem with that: When we put all our power and happiness and wellbeing in the hands of someone else, even someone who loves us, we are as doomed as the Stark family in Game of Thrones.

Because even when that person has our best interests at heart, they have their own life and issues and happiness to attend to - they can’t be on the hook for ours too.

I've spent the last six months wresting all of my relationships from the grip of my codependent patterns and yes, it’s just as much fun as it sounds. Nothing escaped this pattern, not my relationship with my boyfriend, my family, my friends, my business, my clients. I was even being codependent with the universe.

If you’re wondering how codependence with the universe sounds, picture this being shrieked into the infinite starry void:

WHY AREN’T YOU GIVING ME WHAT I NEED? I’M DOING EVERYTHING I CAN, SO MAKE THINGS BETTER ALREADY! COME ON, UNIVERSE!

I’ll say it again: Yikes.

My codependence was flavored with a savior complex, resentment, and more than a few pity parties. Honestly, this has kind of torched my life. Because no one wants to be around that, let me tell you. I didn’t even want to be around it.

Here’s Codependence Zinger #1: It all comes from a good place. (Except maybe all those pity parties. Calm down, Amber.)

We want others to be happy. We want to help and will often do so at the expense of our own wellbeing.

I wanted my boyfriend to be happy, so I bent over backward to tend to his mood, which mostly just pissed both of us off. Our relationship didn’t improve until my mantra became AMBER’S NUMBER ONE! AMBER’S NUMBER ONE! (He gets to be number one too, so it works out.)

Here’s Codependence Zinger #2: Our culture rewards codependence.

We’re praised for putting other people’s happiness above our own. We’re lauded for being responsible and productive human beings, something that's often at the expense of our own health and happiness. This is what Good People do.

My wild ride through the thickets of codependence makes sense: I needed to come into a fuller experience of my own power and my own ability to self-source, without relying on my boyfriend or my friends or my clients or the universe to make me feel better or confident or loved or safe. This is a big part of my work and what I teach, and so I need to be a goddamn master at it. Sometimes when you’re blazing a trail, you get slapped in the face with branches.

Because everything we want and need - safety, confidence, power, abundance, love - comes from within us. Which is both a relief and an annoyance because “you already have everything you need!” (whew, okay) but also “hey! then why doesn’t it feel like it?”

Catching codependent patterns is like unraveling a rainbow sweater by only pulling out the red yarn and leaving the rest of the sweater intact. It’s not easy. I had to get help from someone who knows her way around addiction and codependence. I spent months relentlessly catching my patterns and recoding my brain to recognize myself as worthy of all the attention I was sending outside of myself, learning to fill my own cup so I could give from the overflow rather than being a parched husk of a vessel that’s no good to anyone.

Yes, it’s a lot of work. And I get to keep working on it, so wily codependence doesn’t sneak back in on a technicality.

But the reward is being happy, no matter what’s going on around me. Or at least at peace, if happiness is a bit of a stretch that day. Just because my boyfriend has a bad day doesn’t mean I need to have a bad day or fret for hours about what I’ve done wrong. Just because my business is going through transition doesn’t mean I need to suffer. Just because the world is going through seismic shifts doesn’t mean I need to destroy my mental health.

Who knew that making "ME FIRST" the mantra would fix everything in my life? No, this particular mantra probably isn't the answer for everyone, but if you’re reading this, it may be the answer for you.

ME FIRST GODDAMNIT has upgraded every aspect of my life. It’s healed my relationships, including my relationship with myself and the divine, it’s healing my business, my body, and my relationship with money. It's amplifying my self-esteem and my work in the world, and it just feels better.

Ideally, I’d wrangle up some snappy ending to reward you for making it through this epic number of paragraphs, but I’d rather go make some tea and watch the sunrise, so ME FIRST!