Theories of Shit and Chocolate or 21 things that give me #joyanyway, for my sister on her 40th birthday, because she asked.

Sisters

For her 40th birthday this month, my sister asked her friends and family to tell her what brings them joy. She’s had a hard couple of years and was thinking about how joy can be present even in the midst of suffering and pain, even in the midst of what’s hard. She asked for everyone to record a short, 30 second video and send it to her, explaining what gives them joy. She’s posting these to her FB page with the hashtag #joyanyway. THIRTY SECONDS? Ugh! Unfortunately, brevity is not my gift. And writing my thoughts down is much easier for me than saying them out loud. So as I was thinking about my sister’s request here is what I came up with…

I remember when I was in college and my best friend Julia and I took a road trip to visit some of my extended family in Pennsylvania. As we drove through Lancaster County we could smell the horse manure from the farms. It’s a smell that people who live there are simply used to, and they don’t give it a second thought. When I visited as a child it was always noticeable, but in the center of town where my aunt lived there was a chocolate factory and often the smell of chocolate would permeate the whole little town. In my brain those two smells, manure and chocolate somehow ended up mixing together — I can’t smell one without thinking of the other. As I explained this to Julia all those years ago, we came up with what we called the “shit/chocolate theory.” The idea that those two things must go together — that you cannot appreciate the good without experiencing the bad. Joy is felt more acutely after suffering; even at 19 years old this is something we understood. Somewhere in the back of one of my closets there’s a 25 year old mix tape titled “Theories of Shit and Chocolate” to prove it.

As an adult, I’ve stopped trying to squeeze joy out of the big things. For me, that’s not usually where I find it. Instead, lately, I’ve tried to be open to letting it find me — and to experiencing it where I least expect it. It’s usually in the small moments. Like. . .

1. Like when I first moved to New York and I was feeling a bit sorry for myself because it was my birthday and I only had a couple of friends in the city and I was lonely. So I went one afternoon to see the Almodovar film, “All About My Mother,” which was playing at the Angelika, and I had never gone before to a movie in the middle of the day by myself in New York City and it was so amazingly beautiful and felt absolutely perfect to see a film like that — a film that had some connection to motherhood and also to queerness — on my birthday. And I walked out of the theater that afternoon, so happy to have been born.
2. Either finding a new band/singer I connect with or reconnecting with music I’ve loved for a long time, music that brings me back to myself.
3. Mix tapes (or as the kids these days call them, playlists). Mix tapes are my love language. If you make me one I’ll probably fall in love with you. If I make one for you it means I already have.
4. Synchronicity. And finding other people who also appreciate synchronicity.
5. Singing at the top of my lungs in the car when no one else is with me! Usually to Patty Griffin or Tori Amos, Brandi Carlile, Fiona Apple, or Beyonce.
6. Reading an essay or a piece of literature that teaches me something new or reaffirms something that needs reaffirming. My students say I’m drawn to darkness. But that’s only part of the picture. It’s complexity, I’m drawn to, I tell them. Along with the dark there is light. As in this piece here. And this one too: two of my favorite essays.
7. Reading a line in a student paper that surprises me, makes me laugh, or cry with how beautiful, thoughtful, or poetic it is.
8. Having a great class where my students are engaged and it feels like we’re all authentically learning together.
9. Watching my child when something is making him truly happy and he’s kind of lost in his own bliss and having a moment of being completely himself.

His happy place.

10. Conversations with my kid where he says something so hilarious or smart or deep and I’m just amazed at the unique, intelligent creature that he is.

11. Sitting through a lecture or a poetry reading where the speaker says something — whether it’s an idea or just a turn of phrase — that opens your brain and moves things around and let’s you feel or understand the world or yourself in a new way.

12. Going to see a really good movie in the middle of the week by myself.

13. Randomly coming across a poem that just punches you in the gut and takes your breath away. As happened the first time I read this Mary Oliver poem.

14. The scene in “Once” where Marketa Irglova’s character, wearing a robe and panda slippers walks through the streets at night with her headphones on, totally compelled by the music in her ears and in her heart.

15. When I’m having a good New York City day or moment — when I can forget about all the ways the city is hard and expensive and I’m just feeling myself right in the middle of it all and the light and the air are just right and I’m able to get in touch with all the reasons I have loved this place so hard for so long.

16. When the weather changes from winter to spring and everyone wants to be outside and the sidewalk cafes in New York are all open and alive.

17. Waking up and remembering a good dream, especially the ones that are about celebrities.

18. Good conversation with people I like — those talks (that often last hours and hours) where I really connect with someone — where both of us are taking turns being vulnerable and truly listening to one another. Conversations where both people feel heard and understood.

19. When I get to spend time with these people:

20. The realization that I like myself. That I like, my brain… That I like, even, to be alone because I find myself quite good company.

21. When after having just enough time to myself — to work, to think, to write, to dream — I get to go spend time with people who love and care about me and understand and appreciate who I am. I think today is going to be just such a day.