Should I cancel Joy Day? I asked my partner the other night, both of us staring at the ceiling of the dark bedroom. I was, naturally, wrapped in despair.
Perhaps it’s good that I didn’t really write or plan any of it out yet. Because how can you not address it? How can you pretend that everything’s fine? That it’s business as usual? Regularly scheduled programming..
When does joy become frivolous?
Thirteen years ago, on November 9, 2011, I posted a Facebook status. “Day 1: Happiness is.. those perfect car rides where the radio just plays all the right songs.”
I was 17-years-old. I was, in my own adolescent way, wrapped in despair.
And I took something seemingly mundane. A car ride. Something fairly every day. The radio. Something that could pass by unnoticed. I called it joy.
And then for the next four thousand seven hundred and forty nine days I did it all over again.
Every single day since November 9, 2011, I have posted a single “Happiness is.” Even on days a friend got sick. Even on days I attended a family member's funeral. Even on days I felt so heavy with grief I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep going.
But also on days when wars broke out in places far across the world. Even on days where gun violence tore apart small towns. Even on days marked by global disease outbreak. Even, most recently, on a day where millions of people decided that racism, misogyny, homophobia, and xenophobia wasn’t a dealbreaker.
When does joy become frivolous?
Is it silly to think about joy when you’re worried about a loved one getting deported? Or when you’re worried about losing your health insurance? What about when you’re afraid to be targeted because of how you identify or who you love? Is it silly to think about joy when you’re afraid to start a family because you won’t have access to the care you need should something go wrong during the pregnancy?
Or… counter: can our joy become our resistance?
Can we let ourselves feel anger and grief and can we know that all of it is valid? Can we learn to sit in the numbness as long as we need but also can we choose—just before it consumes us—to get back up?
Can we promise ourselves that no matter what is swirling around us and no matter how much it feels like the walls are closing in—can we promise ourselves that we will prioritize our joy? Can we use our joy as a tool to organize? As a weapon for peace? As a means to take care of ourselves so that we wake up each morning ready to take on work that matters? So we wake up ready to fight for a better tomorrow.
Oh let this joy be our resistance. Let it be urgent. Let us commit to seeking it every day in the novel experiences and in the simple routines. Let us learn to take care of ourselves and one another.
And whatever comes next, let us not forget that this love, this joy, this hope is our power.
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