I had a ridiculously fun weekend. I danced way too much for my poor new knee. I sang loud and off-tune. I gave my nephews sloppy kisses. And I found myself back in the beautiful mountains so close to my home. It was a joyous weekend.
Ridiculous Joy is a funny, lovely, unsustainable thing. Sunday night I iced my knee and tucked myself into bed. Monday morning found me trying to fit back into a schedule with the sweet scent of the weekend still in my head.
Ah- Joy.
I try hard to find joy.
And I must confess, I think lately we as a society look a little harder for joy.
I was talking to a friend today as we discussed the quest for joy.
“I had my life in 2019 and then Covid came along. And I hunkered down and waited for my life to return. And now we are back. But some of the things in 2019 that worked, no longer work. I ironically find that I must reinvent myself yet again.”
Reinventing is fine but it must be recognized and attention must be paid. Where do we find our joy? How do we find our joy? The Rowdy? The Quiet?
As I left for the weekend, I checked the stove again and turned off the water. I locked the door and armed the alarm and I realized that I’m a little more anxious about leaving home.
Home.
Home which had become a safe sanctuary the last couple years. Home- where after 50 years, I found joy in the quiet.
And I left it to embrace the rowdy joy of sloppy kisses and dancing crowds.
Tonight it is quiet other than a very persistent cricket. The sun has set and their is a hint of Fall in the air. The sky is peppered with orange and purple clouds.
Perhaps joy is not fleeting- perhaps it does not have to be rowdy or quiet, it can be both.
Perhaps joy can be found where we take time to recognize it.
Samsmom 