joy – Page 2 – My Truant Pen

How Are You Doing?

It’s a question we get asked often. “How are you doing?” Most of time time, the asker doesn’t really expect a response, past “Fine, and you?” In many circumstances, it’s a social faux pas to actually answer the question. On those other circumstances, looking into someone’s eyes and clasping their hand for an extra split-second to convey you really mean it, you might hear an abbreviated version. “My sister is in the hospital.” “I’ve been really worn down lately.” Sometimes you still get a stoic “fine” which translates as either I don’t want to talk about it, or I don’t believe you want to hear it.

I’ve been reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Ruben lately, and it got me thinking about how I talk about my own state of being. She talks about how awareness and mindfulness of your own happiness — thinking of your blessings as you might call it — enhances and to some degree even creates your state of happiness. (Otherwise, I fear, happiness is rewarded retroactively. When things go bad you might recall that you were happy then, and didn’t even realize it.)

I’d been under the impression that I do a good job of acknowledging and being present in my joy. That’s how it seems to me, that when I am happy (which is not rare) I know my own happiness and hopefully radiate it back out to those around me. This has been a happy period for me, with unprecedented leisure (between jobs), a healthy fun family, small children in the most fleeting time of their lives, a good balance of things I do for others and things I do for myself, and an ample supply of coffee. I even set out to very intentionally NOT complain about how fast my break flew by or how it was still finite.

Then the other day my husband said to me, “You’ve seemed so unhappy lately.” WHAT? Really? Here I am, knowing that I am happy in my heart and thinking that it shows, and the person who knows me best is worried that I’m UN-happy.

So I pondered where this disconnect arose between what I know I am feeling (joy!) and what I am showing (stress!). There are a few things. I’ve been working on some challenges in my life where the only person who can really listen as I work through them is my husband, so he’s probably heard a disproportionate amount about those things. But perhaps mostly, I realized, it’s how I answer HIS questions about “How are you doing?”

With people I do not love dearly, I’m liable to give a very positive reply. “Fantastic!” or “Great!” But in the partnership of marriage? I get defensive about my happiness. On some subconscious level, I’m afraid if I tell HIM I’m happy or doing well, he’ll decide I don’t need his help and support. Even in the best of marriages there’s a certain jockeying for finite privileges, like getting to sleep in or who’s going to put the kids to bed when we both just want to collapse and/or do something fun. We handle these things pretty well, I think, but in my back-brain I’m convinced that if I tell him I’m feeling happy and well-rested, the logical conclusion will be that I should definitely do the tooth-brushing then. So instead I answer, “Well, I didn’t sleep well last night.” Or “I just got done doing another load of laundry” or instead of the “Fantastic!” a stranger might get, I reply, “Ok, I guess.” That “fantastic” is really the more true answer, but instead we get into a subtle competition about who’s more legitimately tired.

How sad. How wrong. My subconscious doesn’t even really have much to go on in this diminution of joy, either. My husband always does his share. But out of this defensive mechanism of mine, I’m hiding my joy in him and in the life we have built together. I’m not entirely sure how to resolve this, except to be more open and less defensive. To share more equally of my joys. To volunteer a little more brightly when I see or feel something that is good.

I am a happy person. I am living a happy life. I hope that the joy of it does not just lurk unspoken in my heart, but shines forth to my husband, my children and my community.

One of Gretchen’s blog posts that really struck a nerve was about the cost of being joyful in our society. She shared a prayer by St. Augustine:

Tend your sick ones, O Lord Jesus Christ;
rest your weary ones; bless your dying ones;
soothe your suffering ones; pity your afflicted ones;
shield your joyous ones.
And all for your love’s sake.

So. How are YOU doing?

Heaving a great sigh of contentment

I think of myself as a generally happy person. My life is a good one: I have family, work, faith, joy, hope and a pot of tea at my elbow. As I was reading the updates that I last posted back from 2004, though, nearly every one was super stressed. (I’m not posting all of them, I’m only posting the good ones, which is about 1/20.) My friends seem to be the same way. I could swear one or two of them start nearly every post with the thesis “Today is not going well”.

I’m currently reading The Happiness Project on my husband’s Kindle, and at some point while talking about relationships, she says that it takes something like 5 positive interactions to “erase” the effects of one negative interaction. So even if you talk 50/50 sad/happy, you will come across as sad. However, when you live life against a backdrop of love, comfort and sufficiency, the exceptional elements of your day are LIKELY to be bad. I live such a rich and joyful life that most of the surprises will almost by definition HAVE to be negative — there’s not much up to go!

So I wanted to take a moment to appreciate the fact that I’m exceptionally happy right now, both in the “right this minute” and the “generally” sense. As far as “right this minute”? I’m on day 1.5 of my 2 week sojourn in relaxedness. I spent the morning very productively doing errands and chores that needed to be done. I got up on time and without whining (which hopefully made the morning more pleasant for my long-suffering husband). I got the boys ready and out the door and to their appropriate locations. I dropped off two huge bags of clothes for charity, bought an outrageous amount of cat food and dropped off a stool sample (4 months late). Then I came home, walked to the post office, bleached the comforter, folded the church tablecloths, cleaned off the porch, potted a plant, adjusted some furniture in the attic, vacuumed and steam cleaned the carpet in the entry way, and cleaned up the “for yardsale/charity” section in the basement, pulling out four MORE bags of clothes to be given away. My productivity was rewarded with a tuna sandwich.

Then I came up to my bedroom, which is just lovely in the noonday light with the purple walls. I have the new reading chair my MIL bought me, which is very comfy. I have created a section of the room where I can sit and read or write. I think that with my new job, this will be my blogging-spot, possibly in the waning hours of the evening. (Up until now, we haven’t ever had any of our computers in our bedroom. We have an office. I hesitated, because I know it’s not great for sleeping, but since I’m hardly ever insomniac, I figured I’d give it a try. Plus, it can all be out of sight.) I have a pot of flowering tea on my night stand, a beautiful tea cup and a bowl full of sugar cubes. I have a book, and an “Excellent” connection to my wifi, which I just used to spend 20 minutes looking up information on Mike Rowe of Dirty Jobs. (Did you know he was an opera singer? And was raised Presbyterian?) I have nowhere I have to be and nothing I must do until daycare pickup tonight, although I hope for another bout of productivity towards the end of the afternoon.

In general terms, it’s just a great life. I was doing something the other day, and thinking that it would be more fun to do if my husband was there. How awesome is it that after 10 years of marriage and 14 together (ok, almost) I still just long to be with my husband? And that he wants to be with me? And the boys are awesome. Last night I sat on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and my eldest son, and we watched the first half of the Superbowl together. I explained why all New England Patriots fans can’t stand Payton Manning and who the quarterback is and we watched The Who and he cuddled into me. He showers me with kisses, and “Grey attack!”s me with hugs. He tells me he loves me. Thane, I discovered, is also pushing through a molar. This took me by surprise because he hasn’t gotten his canines yet, and usually they come first. This might be why he’s been cranky recently, in addition to ear surgery. But this has expressed itself as the desire to be held. He’ll lay his head on my shoulder, arms around my neck, and lie contented and still, curls tickling my mouth. They both get the hiccups when they laugh too hard.

And I thought, as I cleaned the carpets this morning, I really like my house. It’s more than big enough. The floor plan is super-practical. It’s comfortable, and has the feel of a home. It’s strong and sturdy. It has reasons it needs us — for example whose brilliant idea was it to carpet the entryway! But it really feels like home. And I like my town, and my church family is just a great joy.

I know how richly blessed I am. I know that the future will hold different things than the present. But right here, right now, life is full of joy.

Merry Christmas to all!

May Santa reward you all appropriately. May your Christmases be full of warmth and joy. May this be a time you look back on for years to come. May joy be yours, today, tomorrow and always.

Quietly glorious days

It’s funny being in the middle of the times you know are the golden ones. Things are pretty quiet in my life. I am mostly done with my Christmas shopping. I’m terrible at stocking stuffers, so I’m sure that could be improved but eh. My Christmas cards are sent and done, which is one of my major projects of the holiday season. I’m now watching my wall fill up with other people’s Christmas cards. There’s snow on the ground and a bite in the wind.

My sons are healthy, growing and delightful. Grey is SO MUCH FUN these days. He’s incredibly aware and alert and always putting things together. He’s getting better and better control over his temper. He’s kind and loving to all of us. He’s started yelling “Grey attack!” and then smothering us with a bevy of hugs and kisses. He is an unfurling flower of delight.

Thane is harder. It’s a stage of life thing. I was telling my brother that children take turns so you never have a favorite. Right now, Thane is communicating by way of ear-splitting screeches. But he’s the silliest little dude. For MONTHS now I’ve tried to get him to say and point for “nose”. This is one of the first things I did with Grey. It’s a very concrete word, “nose”. Pretty easy to say. And cute as all get-out to watch chubby little fingers pointing. For months now, Thane has ignored my attempts to teach him to say “nose”. He just refuses. I start to wonder… is he having some challenge learning? Perhaps his ear infections have affected his hearing?

But the other day the cats were attempting to scavenge some tasty chicken scraps from the garbage and I “tsked” at them. He looked at me, fascinated, and then spent the next five minutes doing the most adorable “tsk” imitation. What? That’s a VERY HARD SOUND. You really have to coordinate teeth, tongue, palate and wind speed. Not like nose, which is easy. But, unlike nose, he’s interested in it.

Anyway, our house is full of music and chaos and bouncing and little toy cars.

The back yard has, in huge letters visible from the fourth floor, the word “MOM” written in snow by my son and husband while they were playing during the big storm.

In the morning, my husband will bring Thane into the bedroom where I’m trying to eke out the last minutes of sleep on our comfy, comfy, warm bed. Thane curls right up to me and sucks his thumb as he snuggles. It lasts for about 5 seconds, but what a sweet way to start your day.

Everyone I love is on the ok or great spectrum (well, with prayers for my godfather to make a complete recovery). We’re all working, in relationships that work, in safe circumstances, in our normal degree of health.

There’s even been “me” time. I’ve gotten to bring my character up to 10th level in Torchlight. I read the first quarter of a fantasy novel. We’re playing Deadlands tonight.

The best times aren’t glamorous, or news-worthy or even, heaven forfend, blog-worthy. They’re busy, and silly, and look a lot like the day before or the day after. They’re the nights when you order pizza and watch a movie together, or go for an after-dinner drive to look at Christmas lights when you teach your son to say “Bah Humbug” and discover that he knows all the words to your favorite carol.

So I don’t have much to say, other than that these are the small times of great delight, and I know it, and I’m grateful both for the delight and for the knowing.

Grey tries to talk me into letting him watch Willow

The archtype of the holiday

As my eldest son enters into the age of memory, I often wonder what he will recall in his adulthood, and what parts of our life will slip into the background of memory. Periodically, I hope he won’t remember some things — the times I lose my temper or fail to listen. But oh, I hope he remembers this Halloween. More, I hope that forever after, when he thinks of Halloween the imprint on his imagination will be from this Halloween. It was perfect. I can’t imagine a better one.

Halloween morning started wonderfully. It was an unusually warm and seasonable day, with fast-moving clouds and downright balmy temperatures. While his father and brother slept, Grey and I wandered around our neighborhood, chasing a wind-driven balloon through crunching autumn leaves and chatting with neighbors.

Once the eldest and youngest boys were up, we went to the Middlesex Fells Reservation to go on a hike. We hiked through the autumnal forest, stopping for a snack to reward our efforts, and finally (just past the Doleful Pond) found the playground. The boys laughed with joy on the swings, chased each other through the grass and showed great bravery at the slides.

We went home for lunch and I got a massage. Ok, maybe that wasn’t part of THEIR great day but it was part of MINE.

I made cookies in the kitchen, and when the time came, we woke both boys up from their naps, poured them into their costumes, put a bowl of candy on the front stoop, and headed to our neighbor’s house. We’re completely lucky to have really neat neighbors, with kids that all line up. There’s three boys in the older generation, and then three babies — Thane is the oldest of the babies. The older boys played with sounds that made it seem like at least two of them were in the processes of being killed, Thane bopped between groups, and the littler babies focussed their energies on looking adorable. The grownups had conversation and shared tips and discussed the goings-on of our neighborhood and our busy schedules. Candy was doled out.

Fast clouds crossed the full moon in the warm autumn night air when the boys headed out for their trick-or-treating. The swirl of leaves flickered across the warm glow of jack-o-lanterns and porch lights. As a group, they braved doorbells and held out bags and buckets to receive their chocolatey loot. They returned triumphant from their quests, and generous in their plenty — sharing the fine fruits of their labors with hungry parents. The littlest boy went to bed, and all the babies, and then those grownups of us left got together and played Rock Band while our older sons (can you believe it?) entertained themselves without injury in another room.

When we finally put our chocolate-smudged eldest child into his bed, he was happy to find sleep beneath his nightlights.

What joy, my friends. What joy.

The Happiness Project

One of the blogs I enjoy reading is Slate’s Happiness Project. It is what it sounds like — a project documenting one person’s attempts to be happier in the living of their life.

I think if it were my project, I might pick the title the Joyfulness project. In my mind, there is a profound difference between joy and happiness. Joy is a deep emotion, which is not exclusive of pain or toil or struggle. In fact, joy is more likely in that environment than an easy one. Happiness, however, I see as a fluid and fleeting emotion; an easy-come, easy-go feeling. Joy sticks with you. Happiness is a gift, to be taken or given. Joy is won in the struggle.

Anyway, I appreciate the reminders I get from reading it to be intentional about my experience of life and to connect head-on with what matters.

Euphoria

I’ve been pretty euphoric the last week or so. I have reasons for it. I was just blessed with a healthy, sweet, handsome, perfect baby boy. I have physically recovered from the birth in what I consider to be record time. I’m frankly stunned that I feel as great as I do. Other than a certain paunch, not even I can tell that I gave birth less than two weeks ago. My eldest son has dealt with the transition phenomenally. He wants extra hugs and attention, but that I can handle. He clearly fell in love with his brother just as quickly as the rest of us did.

My choice for president won in a spine-tingling fashion earlier in the week and the air feels full of hope that this time it really will be different. The tarnish of cynicism has been polished off our souls — just a bit right now. It feels epic, or at least as though it might be epic.

My husband is home and my family is around us and I have enough of everything I need and everything I want. Thanks to the inlaw phenomenon and sleeping in until 11, I even have enough sleep.

The problems of the world — the economy, the war in the Congo, the sorrows of humanity — they all seem far away from me now.

I’m even doing a pretty good job of not borrowing trouble about how much harder this will all be next week when my support structure poofs away into the ether.

It’s a wonderful time for me. I just want to take the time to say that now. I am more than free with complaints when things are not completely perfect. I should take the time to be deeply grateful and acknowledge it when things actually are as close to perfect as they come.

Mental zephyrs

I’ve been moody lately, for me. By moody, I mean that my general emotional tenor has not been logical or consistent based on external stimuli. Some days I’m just cranky as a bear with a sore tooth, while other days I’m Ms. Sunshine and Light. Today is a Sunshine and Light day. Wednesday? Bear needing a root canal.

This morning, as so often happens, my son climbed into bed to snuggle me. He even says, “snuggle”. He nestled into my arms, his butt against the bulge of his baby brother and his fuzzy-head at perfect kissable height and we drowsed there together for 10 minutes. How can that fail to bring joy to the heart? On a perfect clear October commute where the highway is lined with the slow fire of the dying year (really, the colors are magnificent this year), I listened to him discourse at length about whether Jesus had ever used bad words like “ca ca poo poo head” and gotten a time out.

One never knows just how much theology to teach a three year old. But I’m pretty sure the gospels are silent on Jesus’ use of the phrase “ca ca poo poo head”.

I remember part of why this stage of pregnancy is so tiring. You KNOW that you might have up to (by my count) 30 more days until you are holding an actual real baby. You know that the odds of going into labor today are very small. (Less than 1 in 30.) You know that likely you have a long hard slog ahead of you. And yet you think that maybe? Just maybe? And some of my friends are every so slightly more pregnant than I am and they are having labor pains and it’s days or hours until they will have babies and I could too! Or, well, it could be November.

Hm. What if I am in active labor on election day? Hm hm.

And thus you see the pattern of my thoughts, scattered high, low and in-between by the autumnal zephyrs like so many crisp new-fallen leaves.

On how I affect others

Apologies ahead of time if this sounds conceited, self-centered etc. It is a self-realization, but a a self-realization about something that’s good about me, which I don’t feel nearly as comfortable talking about as my many flaws.

For those of you who know me in real life (and perhaps it even comes through on LJ), I’m a happy person. I tend to be cheerful, and I tend to enjoy my life. Not that I don’t complain as much as anyone, but all in all, I have always been on the positive edge of the emotional scale.

There are times, frequent times, where I hit my zone. It’s not that I’m necessarily ebullient — although I’m that often enough too — but that I am in my own skin and quietly joyous. I may be thinking about something else… the autumn colors, the coffee I’m about to buy, how much I like Garrison Keillor, how that was a pleasing church service, but I seem to radiate something.

Yesterday, after church, I was thinking about all those things, and I was obviously in my zone. I was whistling the PHC theme song “Oh hear that old piano, from down the avenue…” as I walked through the rain to Starbucks to get coffee. And I stopped a man dead in his tracks. He said, “You must be in a good mood.” (I get this a lot. In addition to questions — often vaguely suspicious — about why I smile so much.) As usually happens in these situations, I hadn’t really been thinking about my mood, but I realized he was right. I smiled, and I told him that it was a beautiful world. He sort of nodded his head, surprised, and agreed. I was even happier then when I realized I was happy, and sort of bounced through the store. He couldn’t take his eyes off me. He waved a shell-shocked goodbye as I left.

This particular phenomenon has happened to me more than once (and often in Starbucks — one barista actually bought me a bouquet of flowers after a day like this). And you know, I’m cute but not that cute. I don’t think it’s about how I look. And yesterday I realized what it was. A joyous person is incredibly attractive. When I am happy, and in my zone, I really *see* people. I don’t look past them and I don’t look at them, I see them. I look them straight in the eyes. My head is up, and I’m engaged with the world around me. There is music in my head and in my heart, and I can’t not smile. And I think that all of those are so unusual, they really attract attention. When I’m in that state, drivers in other cars smile back at me.

When I was 16, I remember being miserable at school and hiding in a corner, hoping someone would care enough to come find me and dissuade me from my misery. You’ll be shocked, shocked I tell you, to hear that never worked. But when I am joyous, and don’t actually *need* anyone to do anything for my contentment, I attract people like flies to honey.

So what’s my take-away from this? I’m not sure. I know that when you are blue and would like to attract people, it is almost impossible to radiate contentment. I don’t think it can be faked. But maybe it can be emulated when I’m not in the mood… instead of hanging my head (which is natural and pervasive), force myself to look up, and meet other people’s eyes. Smile reflexively. Try to actually see people. Joy begets joy, while isolation and misery drive away others.