J.O.Y.
January 17, 2021
The other day while walking with a friend in my neighborhood, we stumbled on the letters J. O. Y. They were huge outdoor letters. Maybe five feet tall each. White with sparkles. Someone had put them by the side of the road. Perhaps the owners had grown tired of them as decorations this past Christmas. It was an odd sensation seeing these letters haphazardly tossed away on the side of the road. We both stopped for a moment to puzzle it. There was J.O.Y., sitting by the side of the road waiting for someone to come along and pick it up to reuse next year -- or maybe the trash truck would get to it first.
The irony was not lost on us. We walked on in silence for a good long while.
That image of J.O.Y. tossed to the side of the road kept coming up in my heart all week.
What is JOY? Is it a choice? Do things really spark it like Marie Kondo suggests? Some things can. I believe that. I have an old pocket watch that belonged to my father and a few river stones on my bedside table that definitely make me smile when I see them or hold them in my hand. So yes. It’s fair to say some THINGS can spark the memory of joy.
Flowers also bring me joy. All of them. All of the time. I invest in flowers like some people invest in art. Their fleeting beauty is so comforting to me. Art brings me joy. Books bring me joy. We learn something every time we read, don’t we? And we save our books as a reminder of those random learnings. I’m honestly a bit spooked when I enter a home without books.
The noun joy is at the root of joyful, from the Old French joie with its Latin root of gaudere, "rejoice."
Rejoice.
I love that word so much and love that the mere act of looking up the definition of JOY led me to the word REJOICE. Rejoice is an action word. Almost a command. Or maybe it’s not so much a command, but permission.
The older I get, the more rejoicing I allow myself to do. It’s one of the most delightfully surprising things about aging. This ability to see joy and to take the time to feel it often, totally took me by surprise. The really tiny moments of life are what spark joy (and rejoicing) for me these days; a favorite song playing in my kitchen, a delicious coffee, laughter and logic of kids and time with family that feel like friends and friends that feel like family. Fresh food made with love. Hugs that last until you relax into them…
There’s an Alan Jackson song that goes like this:
The older I get the better I am. Knowing when to give and when to just not give a damn. The older I get, the more thankful I feel for all the life I’ve had and all the life I am living still.
Is there anything better than country music wisdom?
Maybe knowing when to give and not give a damn is what keeps joy expanding as we age. We simply become better editors with time. We edit out the noise and focus on the stuff that matters most.
We know what to keep and what to toss aside…
