Dedicated to Documenting: What 14 Years of Daily Joy Has Taught Me

You know you’re dating a documentarian, I joked to my partner the other day as I made reference to something obscure and personal that happened “seven years ago today.” I’ve been writing things down for as long as I can remember and I’ve been doing so in great detail.

I always begin with some basic orientation. If my family went to the beach for a vacation, I would begin my journal with the full names and ages of everyone on the trip. I would write not just the name of the beach or the state we were in but the address of the hotel or exactly what we had for breakfast each morning. 

When I briefly worked as a seasonal delivery person for UPS one winter, I documented every day’s deliveries. I wrote about the driver I was paired with and the way the ice crunched between our boots as we delivered holiday boxes and bags. I also did this the summer I worked at a YMCA camp and the summer I worked at a nursing home for people with dementia. 

To cut this down—I write a lot and often with a level of detail nobody asked for. 

There’s one day, though, that I let go of that rigidity. Allow me to indulge now. 

On November 9, 2011, I was 17-years-old. I was a senior in high school and the cross country season had just ended so I was driving home earlier than I typically might have. I remember it being unseasonably warm for November in Western Pennsylvania so I had my windows down. I had my radio up. 

Folks who have been in our community for a while can probably fill in the rest of the story.

“I can tell you the exact turn on the windy country road I was on when I had this crystal clear thought…”

Day 1: Happiness is.. those perfect car rides where the radio just plays all the right songs.

Like any 17-year-old in 2011 who thinks they have a world-changing idea, I went home and posted the above line on Facebook and—because of my documentarian tendencies—I grabbed a small notebook and wrote it as well. As the story goes, I’ve never stopped posting and writing. 

Today, November 9, we will mark 14 full years of daily joy and celebrate our 15th birthday. Fifteen feels dangerously close to seventeen. In a couple years, I will have been doing this for half of my lifetime. Currently, 44% of my life has been Happiness tracked.

Today, November 9, I will post Day 5115. For the five thousand, one hundred, and fifteenth time, I will write “Happiness is” and I will put two periods after it instead of the full, grammatically correct ellipsis. I will share something that is bringing me joy. I will—as I am wont to do on big anniversaries—wax attempted poetic at the milestone. 

And then, tomorrow, on November 10, I will post again. Because even though November 9 is our birthday and even though November 9 is what we celebrate as Joy Day, November 10 also deserves a moment of appreciation. Because there was no promise after that first post that there could be something more. No guarantee until I posted again. And again. 

Until I became a self-fulfilling prophecy of my own Happiness. 

So as I sit in a coffee shop on the quiet autumnal anniversary of our founding, here are fifteen things I have learned:

1. Some days you won’t want to post. Some days will be comically bad or deeply dark and the last thing you will want to do is post something lighthearted and fun.

2. You will post anyway. You will post because you told yourself you would and because, after all, there has to be something.

3. And throughout the days and months and years, those days will start to feel further and farther between. There will be less days that you teeter on the edge of 11:30, wondering if you have something to be happy about.

4. You will begin to look for it. What usually would pass as a fleeting moment suddenly becomes an opportunity to share Happiness.

5. When you see a 5-month-old golden retriever puppy named Lemon at the coffee shop, you will leave your computer and say hello and think about how that brief interaction could be captured, could be immortalized, in a Happiness is. 

6. You will sometimes end the evening in your camera reel and find yourself reliving a moment you forgot from earlier in the day—a perfectly brewed tea, a tree with the most beautiful hues.

7. You’ll find new depth to annual occurrences. You can only say “Happiness is.. New Year’s Eve” once.

8. Every time you have a particularly good bowl of soup, you will want to write about it.

9. Some days, you will have so many joys it is nearly impossible to choose just one.

10. Some days, you won’t have any… and the previous overflowing days will have to compensate.

11. You will watch yourself grow up. 

12. You will watch your joys change. 

13. In my case, you will see Happiness about high school (Day 143: Happiness is.. that big sigh of relief moment at 2:31 pm on a Friday.) and college (Day 1388: Happiness is.. the positive peer pressure that reminds you how easy it is to cross things off your college bucket list.) and adulthood (Day 4340: Happiness is.. when a colleague casually mentions that the grocery store next to your office has a specific type of tea you've been meaning to restock in your stash.)

14. There will probably be times when you hate it. Especially early on. You will worry that people think you are too naive. You may become known as the “Happiness girl” and you may feel that you aren’t taken seriously. You may have a bad day and want to burn the whole thing to the ground. You will have to evaluate what it means to be dedicated to joy a thousand times a day. When you’re especially busy, you will wonder what it would mean to not care so much… you’ll wonder why you put such pressure on yourself to consistently find new things to write about, to explore, to appreciate… in the darkest moments, you may wonder if the pursuit of happiness is frivolous in the backdrop of so much suffering and heartache and injustice…

15. And then you’ll post again. You’ll let yourself feel the weight of the world and then you’ll see someone give up their subway seat for a mom with two young kids… you’ll laugh at a dog playing in the sprinkler at the park… you’ll notice the way a warm chocolate chip cookie melts in your mouth… you’ll be reduced to tears with a childhood friend, reminiscing something embarrassing you did when you were younger… you’ll hear rain on the roof as you try to sleep… a cat will crawl into your lap… a sunrise will take your breath away… someone will tell you they love you… and you’ll think this is nice. This made me happy. You know what, I can write just one more thing. It has been a pretty okay day after all. 

And you’ll blink. And you’ll be 31-years-old. You’ll be sitting in a coffee shop across from your New York City apartment. Lemon, the golden retriever puppy, will have left and your matcha latte mug will be empty. But suddenly you’ll find yourself fighting back tears as you think about what the last 14 years has been. Chaotic. Messy. Traumatizing. Beautiful. Unexpected. Healing. Wild. Depressing. Dangerous. Carefree. Open. Fun. 

Documented. 

I have recorded 14 full years of daily Happiness. I never thought I’d get past the first three weeks. 

Let yourself be surprised by your own dedication. Let your resilience delight you. Let your best intentions guide you. Let endless joy find you… and trust that if it doesn’t show up effortlessly, you can be the one to chase it. 

Take off. And then don’t stop running.

Happy Joy Day.