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.

2020

2020 was the year I slammed head-first into “If you want to have kids in this lifetime, better get on it.” It was the year I learned what codependent means and how not to do it. The year I devoted myself to that memoir, while being consistently mad at myself for not also devoting myself to that novel. It was also the year I learned how to take care of myself in a new way, because insomnia and stress were wearing me down to a nubbin.

2020 was the year I learned to do my own nails. How to live with a partner in a new way. How healing it can be to bask in the sun for an hour or three. It was the year I started cheering small businesses for keeping their doors open, actually applauding them as we drive past.

2020 was a year of big internal shifting that will not be reflected on my tax return. A year I went deeper into lessons I thought I had already learned. The year I had to learn to trust again, after losing faith.

2020 was a year of a lot of things that none of us need explained in a blog post, but we survived and even managed to find bright pockets of joy along the way.

That, my friends, is a major accomplishment and we all deserve a big round of applause. So I’m giving us one.

My Decision To Blog Regularly in 2021 Turned Into An Ode To Pixar

I just finished watching Pixar’s new movie Soul — amazing how quickly my fresh No-TV-Until-Dark resolution met its downfall — and one of the things I loved was how closely some of it mirrors my own other-dimensional journeys. Or visions, I suppose. Because I see this stuff without leaving the comfort of my bedroom — something I have a new appreciation for, after being apprised of the other options. [spoiler alert] 1) falling into a manhole, dying, trying to beat the Great Beyond, ending up in the body of a cat, and eventually proving so inspirational that you get a second chance or 2) being a sign-twirler at the peak of your craft with truly excellent facial hair.

Number 2 would actually be awesome, except I am firm enough in my own gender stereotypes that I don’t personally want facial hair.

I’ve never seen my own visions depicted in cartoon form is what I’m saying — and it was just as amazing as you’d expect. I wish a Pixar team could animate the other things in my head, especially the unicorn and peacock parade that shows up when I need some swagger. (Peacocks know how to swagger, if you ever need a boost.)

Here are those It Felt Like Pixar Was Animating The Inside of My Head visions, if you’re curious:

1. When I was young, I asked what god was and the answer I got was that all the people are sparks of light and we all merge back into one great light.

2. When I go in to deal with my fears as an adult, I often find myself in a black space, meeting what look like huge black monsters echoing my own internal negative talk until I deal with them in some manner and they dissolve into black dust.

It was fun to see what felt like the inside of my own head on the screen is what I’m saying.

I also had one of those moments where I thought that if I ever got a real job again, Pixar is the only employer I’d be interested, even though the storywriting and visioning is a job for the top of the totem pole and I don’t have any useful skills that would get me in the door. Having animated movies play in my mind on a regular basis isn’t something you can put on a resume. It’s kind of like saying, “I doodle, so put me in charge of animation. No really it’ll be fine.”

In between eating tacos for lunch and procrastinating sitting back down at my desk, I pondered what about the Pixar ethos resonates with me and how I can shoehorn that into my own life and work, rather than being annoyed that I can’t animate my own brain.

Here’s what I got: I love how the movies are always fun and funny, with an element of pure appreciation for life. But what I love most is what someone once told me is the Pixar devotion to the “fuck you in the heart” moment. Yes to that. I love that moment, in movies, in books, in the rare instances one appears in my actual life unaided by a screen.

As I’m writing this, I’m staring out my office window - the hills are cloaked in mist, grey clouds are moving through and two hawks are suspended over the valley of trees. Watching this with Trent Reznor’s Great Beyond music plays. (Just Us, to be precise.)

It was one of those: What an extraordinary world we live in, what a joy it is to just be alive moments. Since I’m in between fucked-in-the-heart moments, it will do nicely.

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!