This summer, after the initial shock of the pandemic had worn off, once I’d settled into the stillness we’ve all gotten to know, I took many long walks. I’m in a hot, humid part of the country, so I found the only street in town with enough old trees to make summer walking possible. I drove there every day and parked in the shade, excited to move. When I look back on this pandemic, I’ll remember that street as the one that saved me.
I spent a lot of time on those walks thinking about joy. I remembered times I’ve been without it and times I’ve known it well. I wondered if it’s something that can be cultivated, or if some people have natural reserves of it that others don’t. I asked if it was less available in a pandemic, or if the shadow of hardship might illuminate what good we have.
While having this conversation with myself, I turned to activists, theologians, and scholars. I read poems. I talked to friends. I pulled back the curtain and looked into my own heart.
At one point, I also asked about your experience. Your responses were honest, varied, and thoughtful, which I loved. We’ll explore them today.
Though defeating fascism in the nick of time gave us a break in the clouds, we’re still struggling. People are suffering. Rent has not been cancelled, and economic relief bills have not passed. In an alarming spike that mirrors last spring, coronavirus cases are rising across the country, just as we head towards the holidays, when more people will travel and mix households, which is apparently where infection spreads. With a quarter of a million people lost, the prediction is that 100,000 to 200,000 more will die.
It’s impossible to comprehend. It’s defeating and scary. But the only way out, as we know, is through.
More specifically, the only way out is to move through this with as much care for ourselves and those around us as we can muster.
Readers of WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE experienced joy in different ways this year. Sometimes, it was innate or manufactured; other times, it was too hard to find.
So this week and next, let’s talk about joy.
An honest look at the struggle of joy:
I used to work with someone who, when asked how he felt emotionally about a topic, would usually respond, "sorry, that software was never installed on my machine." He was joking, kind of, but that's the reaction your question elicits.
Joy? Sorry. 404—File Not Found.
I'm not sure if joy has ever been a possibility for me, but it certainly isn't now. Life is just survival, swimming solely to avoid drowning, with no joy or happiness to be found.
—Michael, 48, Willingboro, NJ, USA
On joy that’s refreshingly naive and masterfully wise:
In the midst of a pandemic, race reckoning, and climate change (among other existential things), I find a happy reminder of joy in the way my dog experiences it.
Dogs exist in a perpetual state of non-joy-postponement. You can hear it in the sound they make when they find the perfect spot to lie down; the way they lick their chops after a meal; the smile they give after chasing away a squirrel; the look in their eye after you return home. It isn't that their lives aren't complicated, usually because of humans, but they find complete joy in the most simple things. It is an optimism that is both refreshingly naive and masterfully wise.
Humans have the ability to experience ecstasy, which is often conflated with joy, but those moments are fleeting. As a result, ecstasy becomes like a narcotic, and we're always seeking it or one of its replacements: social media, consumerism, and careerism are common examples.
Joy, on the other hand, is philosophically and spiritually akin to peace. It’s closer to harmony or alignment. As such, joy requires a little faith. It’s internally sourced.
My dog’s ability to find it seems indefatigable.
—John, 36, Greenville, SC, USA
On the wisdom of children:
I used to get joy from things. Or from achievements from a book of standards that I didn't write. But I've been spending a lot of pandemic time with my 4-year-old niece, who gets joy from the tiniest, silliest things: a tissue floating, a balloon losing its air, an aunt she finally deigned to kiss.
Her joy is deep and spreading inside me, like water refilling a lake that didn't know it was dry.
—Nikki W. Powell, USA
Many thanks to Michael, John, and Nikki. It still brings me comfort that we’re all in this together.
If you search “joy” on a poetry website, you’ll find a lot to explore. I did that this week, not for the first time, and because asters are my favorite color, and as a result, my favorite flower, “Joy” by Stuart Kestenbaum, caught my eye. It features asters in the first line. As we head into what feels like season five of this pandemic, I want to leave you with a few lines.
Every butterfly knows that the end
is different from the beginning
and that it is always a part
of a longer story, in which we are always
transformed. When it’s time to fly,
you know how
If the butterfly trusts the longer story, so can I.
Between you and me—
Leave it to 2020 to turn me into a fan of the monarchy. I revisited The Crown this week — yes, for Diana — and spent more time than intended looking at photos of her online. I also ordered the new Didion collection that’s coming out in January and realized that hearing her thoughts on Martha Stewart, which are apparently included, is exactly the small pleasure I needed to look forward to this winter. I highly recommend Kiese Laymon’s new piece in Vanity Fair, which explores the reckless brutality of this moment but somehow, still lands on hope, and The Daily’s reading of the New York Times piece on Gillian Welch, which is delightful even if you rushed to buy the magazine the day it came out like I did.
We don’t have plans for Thanksgiving at my house, so in response, our new plan is to Not Have Plans, like, officially, which can be a struggle for us. My partner will make Korean food and we’ll finally watch some movies. There will be snacks.
Take care out there.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Want to support this newsletter? You can become a sponsor, click the heart, or share online. You can also forward it to a friend, which is the greatest endorsement of all.
So much wisdom and real joy here!