Joy

Joy.

It sneaks up on you. And when it does, it is sometimes hard to recognize.

It is not always conventional. It is not always a baby grasping your finger, or a first kiss in the rain, or a long lost sibling returning just as the Folgers starts brewing.

It is not cynical or conditional. It is not permanent or guaranteed. It is not earned or deserved. It is not reliable or predictable.

It is fickle and elusive and seductive and enigmatic. Like a quirky woman in an indie romantic comedy, it is desirable in unexpected ways clothed in flirty skirts and funky boots and playing the intrusive yet intoxicating music of bangly bracelets. It does not quite fit in with the everyday and is terrifying, foreign and hypnotic all at once.

We buy bumper stickers commanding us to not postpone it in a desperate attempt to court it. We believe if we eat more kale, meditate more frequently, read blogs more fervently we can achieve it more regularly. 

Like love and a great job, it often presents itself when we are not looking for it. And then, suddenly, it is there. And you can’t stop smiling and you’re conscious of your breathing and you know this is an uncommon moment that defies description and you want to bottle it and bathe in it every day. And for an instant you feel the unique pleasure of being fully human.

And then the phone rings, and there’s milk to be bought on the way home, and the report card is not as expected, and the dog has fleas, and the check bounces, and that uncommon moment gets smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror. And we read the bumper sticker in front of us and snicker cynically as if we had any control in the matter at all.

But we do not give up, because not only did the moment happen, but we recognized it. We felt it. We know it exists. And we vow to eat more Kale, meditate more frequently and read blogs more fervently in the hopes that tomorrow someone will kiss us in the rain despite our Folgers breath and the baby grasping our finger.

Thank you joy. It was nice to see you today.