Perhaps it sounds like a strange thing to say, but I’ve been feeling a lot of guilt whenever I’ve felt even the smallest amount of joy lately. What right do I have to feel happiness, even a little bit when there is so much pain and suffering in the world? What right do I have to joy when I am still grieving the loss of a loved one? How dare I find space for hope when everything feels so very hopeless?
My other fear is if I am being allowed to be this happy now, is it because something horrible is about to happen? Best to be cautious and curtail my happiness, because the happier I feel, the worse the terrible thing will hurt when it gets here.
It feels like even the smallest ray of sunshine is marked by my own spiral of self hatred for admiring it. Every smile that reaches my lips without effort is pulled back into shame. When I last did this earlier on today, I paused and asked myself, “Who benefits from us constantly guilting ourselves out of feeling even the smallest inkling of joy?”
The answer, of course, is no one.
Being in a complete state of sadness for perpetuity because there is unhappiness in the world or because you are supposed to be grieving makes for a hopeless existence. And hopeless is not a state that helps you build anything. The act of resistance, true resistance comes from joy. Joy is necessary to keep movements going, the celebration of even the smallest of victories – you cannot build anything from apathy. Joy, compassion, kindness, love and hope all live in the same bright blue sky that is needed after and before storms. During the brutal, painful Partition of India, my grandfather held onto a book he loved and turned to it for fortitude. My grandmother dreamt of the roses she would grow one day. Joy is an act of revolution, it is what keeps us going in times of deep pain.
I often turn to the words of James Baldwin when I am truly feeling despair for the world and guilt for feeling any joy. He was once asked, “Are you still in despair about the world?”
Baldwin responded, “I never have been in despair about the world. I’ve been enraged by it. I don’t think I’m in despair. I can’t afford despair. I can’t tell my nephew, my niece. You can’t tell the children there’s no hope.”
I think it is essential for children to see the adults around them feeling hope for the future, taking in joy where they can for how else will they learn to do the same?
So here is what I am asking of you and myself:
Do not be afraid of happiness when it visits you. Do not think about all the reasons you do not deserve it. You deserve a thousand joys. You deserve little miracles. You deserve a quiet Sunday morning carved from the peace you wished for in your childhood. You deserve cups of tea made by someone who loves you and you deserve people who nourish you and you nourish in return. You deserve poetry and art, and the pages of books and songs that bring you hope.
I hope happiness finds you where you are and when it finds you, you do not doubt for even a second that you deserve every ounce of it.
As Mary Oliver once said, “Joy was not made to be a crumb.”
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l love thinking of joy as an act of revolution. Thank you for this timely reminder (and permission) to be forgiving and more gentle.
I’m weeping. These words are necessary. Medicinal. Reaffirming. Thank you dear one for sharing them with us; for sharing your aching and happy heart with us. 🤎