Joy in my back yard

I did nothing on Saturday, and nothing again today, except pick peas and water flowers--oh yes and lie on my back on the lawn, watching the tree tops lift and sigh in the summer breeze, listening to the chirppings of contented birds and the plutter of their tiny wings as they flitted from branch to branch. I found joy in that. I felt my spirits rise to the sky and float back down in a parachute of widespread delight. I want to hold onto these profoundly meaningful summer moments, but time hurries on, ushering in darker days and darker thoughts. I'm thankful to have warm and rewarding memories to dart to when I need to lighten the burden of more somber times.

On the trail

Just back from two days of backpacking with my friend, T. You'd think if you could generate joy, the wilderness would be the place to do it. I found contentment, certainly. Who wouldn't be at least momentarily content, looking out over a mirror-smooth lake ringed by granite peaks, populated by small trout and jubilant birds. But joy is more elusive than that, not so easily gained. Before I go any further, I'd better come up with a definition for what it is I'm looking for-- joy, in my terms is this: A leaping of the soul, a giant bound beyond happiness, beyond contentment, beyond acceptance, beyond love, a leap that propels you to the infinite, that fills your heart to bursting, that suddenly brings enlightenment. "This is what I was made for!" your whole being shouts. "This is the purpose of life!" I've experienced that feeling a few times, and when I do, it feels like joy was made to last forever; it seems impossible to move out of joy, ridiculous that negative emotions should ever again have a place in the universe. But each time, joy is fleeting, and I fall fall fall, fast and hard, out of Eden.

I didn't find joy in the wilderness this time. "But isn't contentment an element of joy?" asked T., who fully supports my search, fruitless though it may be.

"Yes," I agree. "Contentment is there, buried in joy. But joy encompasses much much more." We pondered that for awhile, moving off to our separate cathedrals of rock, tree and water to meditate, write and read. We reconvened with no better answers than when we'd begun.

Later, on the drive home, T. and I argued about issues that were not trivial to either one of us. We each flared from embers smoldering in our distant pasts, and neither of us realized the spark we'd ignited in the other, the terrible consuming fire of hurt that obliterates joy, obliterates everything but the ancient wound. We left our foray into the wilderness with the taste of smoke, regret, and betrayal on our tongues. We weren't even happy, let alone joyful.

But perhaps I can make progress in this way: today I found the antithesis of joy. Defining what joy is not is important, I tell myself.

Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any happier right now.

Creation post

I've been mulling over taking the leap into blogging for quite some time. Inspired by Jenni's "Travels with Alex" and recent lectures about keeping up with current trends in communication, I have finally taken the first step, which has been quick and painless--sign up for a blog and start typing.

Besides techno-fear, here's the other thing that had been holding me back: thinking of something to say! Now that I am an over-50, single, career woman staring retirement in the eye in the not-too-distant future, I don't have anything going on in my life that is overly interesting or intriguing. Why would anyone want to read about me? I'm just a run-of-the-mill, 21st century baby boomer who will soon switch to over-the-hill, average Betty---somebody who hasn't much to show for being on this planet for nearly 51 years. I live with a dog, a cat, a canoe, a bicycle, a pair of skiis, and a car.

But what I really really want, more than anything else is to live with joy. And that's the inspiration I finally found for writing this blog.

My closest friend told me last night how sad she is, how hard it is to find happiness, let alone joy. She felt she had no excuse to feel so despondent. Didn't she have everything anyone could ever want? Wasn't she surrounded by people who love her? Why, she agonized, couldn't she experience the contentment that ought to come with such gifts? Why couldn't she just be happy?

I wished I could reach into my friend's soul and plant a little seed of joy. I wished I could water it every day and turn it into a beautiful, flowering tree that would send her dancing into the meadows of life, shouting her happiness, embracing the clouds, finally realizing what a gift she is to others, to herself.

The problem is, we can't donate joy to anyone else. We can't lend it. We can't borrow it. And we certainly can't buy it. The only way we can have joy is to create it--each of us on our own. So this blog is dedicated to my friend--and to me. I'm going to use it to document my search for joy. Maybe it will give others ideas or inspiration for their own sojourns. And this is indeed a sojourn each one of us will take at some time or another.

I don't think anyone gets through life scott-free of this trip. Because the search for joy is also the search for God.

I hope you'll follow my travels and that you'll give a helping hand to all those around you who are on similar journeys (yourself included).