Today I’m Slumped in a Cavernous Crater Where Joy Eludes Me

Even simple joys feel beyond my grasp today

Remember to grab some joy today.

It’s an encouraging mantra my friend Rhobeau often sends to me in the comments of my stories. I love its imagery and I keep it tucked in my back pocket. I watch for ways in which joy shows up during my days and grab hold of it when it does.

Sometimes grabbing joy come in the form of big things like taking a trip to Italy or spending a long weekend visiting a dear Medium friend IRL. These types of life-changing grabs at joy are few and far between though.

So most days, grabbing joy comes from simple things — moments that surprise and delight me.

Joy may pop up when I spot a young girl dancing in a park. It may arrive quietly as I sip a warm chai while reading a daily meditation by my favorite spiritual guru, Richard Rohr.

Joy may spring forth by waking up to the friendly chirps of cardinals. Or it may settle into my heart softly when I gaze upon early morning’s amber sunlight kissing my back porch post.

These are moments when grabbing joy is easy.

But then there are days when grabbing joy isn’t easy. This week, a string of those such days clumped together. An inky cloak of frustration, sadness, and disappointment now hangs on my shoulders.

This slumpy funky feeling slinked in when my mind became fixated on the joys I can’t seem to grab.

I can’t grab a man to partner up with me. I can’t grab the success I’d like to have in my writing. And I can’t grab a winning pickleball game.

Seriously. I lose almost every time I play.

I know the problem stems from where I place my focus. I’m locking my eyes on things beyond my control. And when I’m mired in the muck of what remains elusive, even simple joy becomes difficult to grab.

Gratitude seems beyond me.

I know I have lots to be grateful for and I am grateful. Really, I am.

Yet sometimes I want just a bit more.

You see, some days it’s hard to be single. When I’m out and about I often find myself surrounded by couples and when this happens my singleness screams in my ears. I want someone by my side like everyone else seems to have.

I want someone to share those cheerful cardinal chirps with me. And dammit. I’d like to have sex again.

I’d like my writing to be effective and my words to reach more people. I’d like to experience a stretch of pickleball wins. Silly, I know. But losing all the time just bites.

It’s funky-feeling days like these that make me want to give up on love. To close the book on my writing. To hang up my pickleball hat.

But then I’ve got this annoying personality trait called persistence baked inside me. It keeps me hanging on. It keeps me trying for more. It keeps me reaching for the things I want. It keeps me searching for a fix.

On one hand, I can grab secondhand joys like witnessing the tender love I notice between long-time couples or delighting in the achievements of my fellow writers. I can grab a slice of indirect joy by celebrating the pickleball victories of my friends.

Yet while I hold these vicarious joys in one hand, I still feel emptiness in my other one— the hand that wants to experience these joys for myself.

And sometimes the gap between what I can grab and what I can’t grab feels cavernous. Some days it’s a crater wider than I can bridge.

I know in time I’ll shed this hefty cloak. Eventually, I always do.

But today, I’m slumped from its weight and I can’t seem to shake it.

kasey sparks, © 2023

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