The Joy Diary
When I drive, I listen to Minnesota Public Radio. A few days ago, I heard an interview with a guy – sadly, I didn’t catch his name – who keeps what he calls joy diaries. These are little snippets, written down immediately or as soon as possible after the experience. One joy per day. Joy happens in airports, hotels, in shopping malls, in restaurants and bars. Apparently, joy presents itself most commonly in public spaces.
Wow. An extrovert, I thought. And: Joy is a pre-Covid phenomenon.
But on further consideration, I wondered if I might embark on a similar project. As an introvert, however, my own joys are mostly private, and on a small scale. I feel inordinately satisfied when, in sorting the laundry, I find that all of my socks match. Even more when I find no orphans, and no holes in toes or heels. Happiness arrives in the shape of an evenly toasted slice of bread. Of my cat, blissfully lapping at a trickle of water from the bathroom faucet. Reciting Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself, thinking of how an entire novel can be contained in its opening sentence, thrills me as much as the thought of unlocking a Fabergé egg with a single touch. No matter that the only eggs I ever touch come from chickens. Separating yolks from whites without having to remove any bits of shell is also a triumph.
As I sit here at my laptop, I pick up my phone. I can’t help it. It is January 7, 2021. Yesterday, a mob stormed the Capitol, desecrating the house of our democracy, leaving five people dead. This is what happens when a human wrecking ball enters the White House, stays for four years, and refuses to leave. And incites violence among his rabid followers in an insane effort to hold on. To “Stop the Steal” of what does not belong to him.
Since 2016, the digital edition of The New York Times has rarely been out of my reach. But I’m caught up, fed up, exhausted. I scroll down past the rage and madness and despair. A story catches my attention. It’s on-topic. Serendipitous. It’s the Well Challenge, Day 5: “The Power (and Joy) of Being Prepared,” written by Tara Parker-Pope.
After a cheerful introduction about how the pandemic has made her realize that she has never even thought about the issues arising should she come down with Covid-19 and need to be hospitalized, she relates how ill-prepared she felt. “My biggest concern was my dog and cat!” she writes. What to do? Her Times beat is instructing readers on ways to successfully live our lives. She passes the lessons of her research on to us.
“So for Today’s Well Challenge, I encourage you to embrace the opportunity to be prepared by creating an advance health directive and gathering other documents to support your family in a time of crisis.”
Not quite what I had in mind. However, I imagine that there are those whose idea of a good time is collecting, scanning, and copying important documents and securing them in a fireproof safe, along with lists of computer files and passwords. Of creating a durable power of attorney. Of having “the talk” with your doctor, lawyer, spouse, children. (In this case, “the talk” is a frank discussion about your advance health care directive. Naturally, you distribute copies to your loved ones).
Ha, I think. Too late. Christmas has come and gone.
I decide to tempt fate. There’s an advance directive in my medical file, and in my husband’s. Our kids are smart enough to hack any computer, interpret the most incoherent spreadsheets, sniff out their parents’ secrets. They’ve been doing it all their lives.
I keep my phone on vibrate nearly all of the time. I have to remind myself that my ringtone is Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.”
Maybe that’s my problem. The most sublime piece of music, muffled in my pocket, wants to be heard. What I need to do now is reach out. Call, instead of sending texts or e-mails. When someone responds to a voicemail message, I will feel the endorphin surge. Oh. Joy! Someone wants to talk to me!
I record this epiphany in my Joy Diary. It’s the first entry of the new year.
Oh, joy . . .
Socks that match.
