Can You Recall What Brings You Joy?

The first time I ate at a restaurant after COVID hit was in September 2020. That seems wild from this late pandemic vantage point — six whole months of eating solely at home. No, thank you.

It was nothing fancy. A glorified foot truck cluster on an apple-picking farm upstate. My husband, kids and I sat at a large picnic table, socially distanced from our companions, another family with whom we’d planned to sort through the dregs of macintosh and red delicious apples.

The weather was perfect — blue skies, warm breezes. That magical sliver of a moment between summer and fall. We ate greasy French fries and drippy tacos, drank too-sweet strawberry lemonade and probably worried about whether we were distanced enough, since we knew so little about outdoor transmission then.

But it was a revelation.

What a thing to be with friends in person! To let our kids play with other kids! To talk to other adults, unplugged! To eat food we didn’t prepare, nowhere near our home! What a high to be social again, out in the world! What a rush of joy!

As the pandemic has progressed, especially since the vaccine became available for adults and children, there have been more joyous — though tempered — occasions like that: reunions with friends and family, returns to regular school, visits once again to movie theaters and plays, the abandon of hanging out indoors with friends for the first time in so long! (Imagine never having to wither in the elements in order to spend time with people! Imagine access to an actual bathroom!)

Simply having our lives returned to us — changed, yes, and unstable, but at least in some form — was enough to bring some bliss.

And yet that happiness has proved, not surprisingly, short-lived. For one thing, despite the previous deprivation, even the best circumstances too quickly normalize. Soon, fries at a picnic table become run-of-the-mill, limp and under-salted. While the pandemic has waxed and waned, allowing us different degrees of comfort and freedom, it remains a weight on our shoulders, something worrisome and restrictive that we carry with us wherever we go.

Also, considering the stress of the pandemic, it felt as if all the other bad news should take a temporary hiatus. But it hasn’t. Trauma seems to abound everywhere. No matter how bad you might be feeling, there’s always a sense that someone else has it worse. Are your feelings even valid?

On top of everyday concerns about finances, health, parenting and career, there are culture wars, actual wars, political divisions, hate crimes, the rising price of fundamentals like gas and health insurance, rampant senseless shootings, the eradication of reproductive rights, sicknesses even beyond this one relentless virus…the list goes on and on. I find, especially with small children, it’s difficult not to worry over the state of things all the time. It’s hard to find joy while feeling so depleted.

Now, two years into this pandemic and much longer since the violent division in this country became a source of constant anger and sadness, what brings us joy?

I, for one, have trouble remembering what brought me happiness in the “before times.” I suspect that the emptiness I find in some of the options is an unavoidable result of the world changing. It’s not possible to unsee what we’ve seen, to return to whatever was before. We’re looking through new eyes. And, even if it’s eventually possible to readapt, it can’t be forced. Maybe once upon a time, you loved big raucous parties. Now, after two years of quiet, all the music and people feel overwhelming? Well, that’s valid and needs to be honored. Perhaps one day you’ll like giant gatherings again — or maybe not. But, for now, that doesn’t bring you joy. It’s important to recognize that shift.

Yet, it’s so difficult to accept these changes in ourselves because those small details are what make up our sense of identity. What happens when something you used to love loses appeal? Who are you when your preferences change? How do you fill that gap? It’s destabilizing to recognize that, what once offered a surge of happiness, might not anymore. There’s a desire to push against it.

But if this moment in time calls for anything, it’s surrender.

That’s why I’ve decided that we must try to turn our attention to what’s true in this moment, rather than what we think was or should be. In order to relearn how to enjoy our lives now, the obvious first step is paying attention to how experiences make us feel — mind, body and, yes, soul. I know, for example, that discovering my daughter immersed in a book brings me a swell of ease. A running hug from my son brings me a rush of glee. When my husband makes me laugh, I feel lighter, even younger. But those are external experiences, reliant on others.

I know I love a good book, TV show or movie (the lighter the better at the moment!). But I’m all too aware that those are methods of escape. Like so many of us now, I’m too reliant on the opportunity to zone out and forget, only to return to reality with an unpleasant jolt.

Work successes feel good, no doubt. But that pride is so quickly replaced with anxiety about succeeding again and proving yourself worthy. Ten minutes on Instagram or Twitter will rob you of that increased sense of self-worth.

Many would tell you that the answer to finding true joy is within, all about connecting deeply to yourself. I feel confident that this is true and am a real believer in practices like meditation, but in my most despondent moments — when I’m too blue to stand up off the couch or when my eyes well in despair for no specific reason — that’s a bit too enlightened for my capabilities.

These days, I need pleasures that are easily procured and demand little of me, but don’t leave me feeling worse. I need joys found in the everyday. And the more I pay attention, the more I can provide them for myself.

So, here are some things that I have noticed bring me joy lately:

• flowers in a vase in my living room
• an amazing smelling hand lotion (current go-to)
• lighting a candle while I work (current go-to)
• walks by myself, listening to a funny podcast, when it’s not too hot or too cold
• new foods
• pretty hotel rooms
• my toes in a pool
• exercise (I don’t like to do it, but can’t deny that it lifts my spirits)
• wandering with nowhere to be
• touching and feeling beautiful clothing in stores I didn’t enter for so long
• talking to funny people
• a newly cleaned house (before my little monsters get to it!)
• wandering a museum without a plan
• twinkle lights
• the smell of honeysuckle and gardenia
• the shade
• a great song I forgot existed
• my new rainbow shoes

Even just writing the list down helps me to draw connections that weren’t obvious before. It seems like a big part of what makes me feel good is about existing without demands and structure for a chunks of time, just being in the lively world.

It’s true that I no longer feel elation over simply sitting in a restaurant, although I try to remind myself of how lucky we are to have that freedom now. But there are still real pleasures to be found in the experience. If I can take my time walking there, and the restaurant has twinkle lights, and I can taste something new, and I’m joined by someone kind and funny, and I’m secure that, wherever they are, the kids are alright…well, then there’s that glimmer of joy. And, for now, that will have to be enough.