This Is Joy, This I Believe
I was recently made aware a fabulous website called ThisIBelieve.org where people from all walks of life are encouraged to share essays stating their personal, deeply held beliefs. As part of the final for my English composition class, we were required to write an essay for ThisIBeleive.org. I was thrilled to have the opportunity as it allowed me to reflect on some lessons I've learned in my thrity-five years of life. What I came up with is possibly one of the most important beliefs (aside from my personal religious beliefs) that I will hopefully pass on to my children.
This Is Joy
The house is quiet as the morning light gently pours through the southern windows in liquid shades of blue and gold. I open the sliding door and inhale. It is a summer morning before anyone is awake and I am alone. To see the sunrise, reminding me of all that is possible, to feel the cool, clean air tenderly touch my cheek, to feel alive while the town still sleeps, this is my joy.
I believe in finding joy within. In a world fraught with struggle and sorrow, hardships are plentiful, but joy remains abundant. Joy is not a human right; it is not a gift to be given. I believe that joy comes from gratitude and is the ability to cultivate feelings of peace, happiness, and even pleasure in one’s own life.
Four years ago I embarked on a journey that I felt threatened to suck all joy from my life. My daughter’s autism diagnosis darkened every sunrise and left me feeling heavy and gray. The disability, the labels, all the bad things that could happen in the future pressed heavily like stones on my mind; I simply could not find a way to think of anything else. I was miserable. I anguished night and day about how I could have caused my daughter’s disability and what I could do to change it.
Then I read something that changed my perspective. Victor Frankl, the Holocaust survivor said in this brilliant quote: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude to any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way.”
The idea that I had a choice in how I felt or how I reacted to things beyond my control was not unfamiliar; I had heard it all my life. But I had finally reached a point where I felt I had lost control. The notion that joy was something that could be given or taken was doing me no good. So I turned inward, searching myself for sources of comfort, peace and happiness, instead of looking outside where things can seem so bleak, and happiness can be so far from reach. I found within myself the ability to feel content and to follow my bliss. I took control and began looking for joy in the small things like a good book, a cold can of Diet Coke, or a quiet moment alone with my husband.
And then there was the sunrise. One morning it called to me with a golden voice, drawing me from my bed to join it outside. In the stillness of the morning I felt a whispered moment of joy. I was captivated into a breathless silence as tears of gratitude flooded my eyes. I was grateful for the silence, the shadows, the mist floating over the grass. I was grateful for the sunrise and the ability to see it. I discovered joy, pure, uncomplicated, and wholly my own. This I believe.
This Is Joy
The house is quiet as the morning light gently pours through the southern windows in liquid shades of blue and gold. I open the sliding door and inhale. It is a summer morning before anyone is awake and I am alone. To see the sunrise, reminding me of all that is possible, to feel the cool, clean air tenderly touch my cheek, to feel alive while the town still sleeps, this is my joy.
I believe in finding joy within. In a world fraught with struggle and sorrow, hardships are plentiful, but joy remains abundant. Joy is not a human right; it is not a gift to be given. I believe that joy comes from gratitude and is the ability to cultivate feelings of peace, happiness, and even pleasure in one’s own life.
Four years ago I embarked on a journey that I felt threatened to suck all joy from my life. My daughter’s autism diagnosis darkened every sunrise and left me feeling heavy and gray. The disability, the labels, all the bad things that could happen in the future pressed heavily like stones on my mind; I simply could not find a way to think of anything else. I was miserable. I anguished night and day about how I could have caused my daughter’s disability and what I could do to change it.
Then I read something that changed my perspective. Victor Frankl, the Holocaust survivor said in this brilliant quote: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude to any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s way.”
The idea that I had a choice in how I felt or how I reacted to things beyond my control was not unfamiliar; I had heard it all my life. But I had finally reached a point where I felt I had lost control. The notion that joy was something that could be given or taken was doing me no good. So I turned inward, searching myself for sources of comfort, peace and happiness, instead of looking outside where things can seem so bleak, and happiness can be so far from reach. I found within myself the ability to feel content and to follow my bliss. I took control and began looking for joy in the small things like a good book, a cold can of Diet Coke, or a quiet moment alone with my husband.
And then there was the sunrise. One morning it called to me with a golden voice, drawing me from my bed to join it outside. In the stillness of the morning I felt a whispered moment of joy. I was captivated into a breathless silence as tears of gratitude flooded my eyes. I was grateful for the silence, the shadows, the mist floating over the grass. I was grateful for the sunrise and the ability to see it. I discovered joy, pure, uncomplicated, and wholly my own. This I believe.
To read more inspiring essays, or to contribute your own, go to ThisIBelieve.org. I encourage you to do it. It might just open your eyes, and inspire your heart.
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Rachel