Professional Joy Stalker

As my friend Lynn says,” What if joy is stalking us?” and all we need to do is be still long enough to notice and marinate in multiple daily pleasures.

I love that idea but it didn't come naturally to me. What came naturally was fear.

I was always on the search for danger, betrayal, and disappointment. I hunted for it, sought proof of it, and couldn't believe, trust, absorb, or fully let in hope, love, or faith. It wasn't until I learned about trauma and also surviving trauma, that I understand that this was a response, a reaction, a defense mechanism, something adaptive and learned that could also be changed.

I read Rick Hanson's work on mindfulness, the brain's bias for bad, and came to see my post-traumatically stressed brain as something to admire, respect, and also to nurture. It was simply trying too hard to keep me safe as it had done so successfully in childhood.

I remember the day I was out walking alone in a field, talking to a friend on the phone about the nightmares I'd had the day before. My dear friend Kathy had told me, "I never want you to wake up afraid and feel like you can't call me or tell me or have me bear witness."

Seriously, how lucky am I to have a friend that not only says that but means it? That said, it took her saying those same words at least a dozen times before I'd call when I had a nightmare. Instead of hiding my fear hangover, I'd find relief by sharing.

So one day, as I walked, we talked and I told her that when I'm post-traumatically stressed, walking around makes me feel tiny, timid, and has me looking out at the world, even in the small park across the street from my home, imagining all the murder, chaos, and mayhem that could happen if someone sneaked out of the bushes with a weapon, stopped in a car and had a gun, or decided to mug or attack me near my house.

When afraid, I'd have scary thoughts. Scary thoughts would make me anxious or ashamed. The trigger might be a nightmare I barely remembered or an encounter that didn't feel safe and reminded me of being helpless. I don't need to detail the traumas that caused my fear. It's enough to understand that the effects of my own defense mechanisms wore me down and are corrosive.

Talking to my friend made me wonder if I could counter my own default setting and help heal my brain - not as a war or a rejection against my past or a denial of of my post-traumatic symptoms, but as a way to nurture and give myself the comfort and optimism one gets with a loving and attentive parent. As adults, we can learn how to parent ourselves at any age. Learning it's possible to be a compassionate to my own afraid self changed my life.

But for a long time knowledge alone of what caused my fearfulness wasn't enough. I needed to find ways to practice feeling safe. I needed to make deliberate attempts to notice how often things worked out, went well, fell into place. I needed to be as vigilant and persistent about stalking joy, safety, and gratitude as I had been active and aggressively looking for danger. While gratitude journals rang hollow to me for a long time, because I was still in shame and self-hate, searching for beauty seemed accessible so it's where I started.

So, the question my friend Lynn asked - "What if joy is stalking us?" delights me.

What joys arrive regularly that we simply need to notice, count, and savor?

• There's the red tulip in the middle of the garden bed, tentatively coming up and into the spring.
  
• How about the miniature lilies that are small and wiring and sometimes stand up in as bright yellow blasts of sun fun and other times droop and drop like an old man on the couch napping through the news.
  
• Have I appreciated the purple flowers in the yard are as pretty as a hyacinth but are really just an overabundant weed?
  
• Even the ivy plant in the pot on my porch which responds immediately to the presence or lack of water has a rhythm all her own.
  
• The candle and hand cream that both perfume the air with vanilla.
  
• The daisy that refuses to fade and brings daily delight.
  
• The begonia seems to pile petals upon itself like pillows in an overstuffed bed.
  
• The coconut shavings in the overnight oat bowl making my mouth moist and sweet.
  
• The smell of lavender from the trader joe’s salt scrub that my daughter loves.
  
• The warmth of the sun on my bare shoulders coming in through the window.
  
• The way my partner reaches for my hand when I step towards him when we walk, the way he points out the osprey in the nests or over the water hunting for food, and how explains the difference between the small snowy egret and the larger ones.
  
• The way the cat makes herself the center focus of any window that lets the sun in. He is unapologetic about letting his back, head, belly, and every bit of his hair be warmed. He is not surprised to be ooh’d and ah’d over, to be pet, photographed, and admired while sleeping, purring, or sunbathing. He acts regal in his expectation of being cared for and adored. He doesn’t even attempt to do tricks, to cuddle, or think anything is required of him. He seems like royalty.
  
  

Could I be that free in the sun or on a bed - willing, able and open to all of my needs being met and my only expenditure of energy is rolling over to be eat, be fed, or rubbed? Not quite. But I am learning to slow myself down and discover what delights me because some days the truth is I still don’t know. Sometimes, my habit is still to focus only on pain, fear, and worry. And I don't shame myself for that because I'm human and dealing with epic uncertainty.

But still I want to learn to live in new and better ways and to wake up to life and that is exactly what I am doing. We can't give ourselves a different past than the one we had but we can gift ourselves with the feelings of safety, joy, love, and security we may have missed out on for too long. And this is the gift of healing.

I’m more open than I have ever been to being surprised and to trying new things.

And I’m no longer willing to save it all for later - not money, not time, not creativity, not love.

There’s no better time.

No better other.

No different  x, y, or z is needed.

Nothing newer or better than this moment.

Nothing preserved for some future illusion of ideal coming later.

It’s all about the now and there's a freedom to living like this that I wouldn't trade.

The future isn’t guaranteed to anyone but most of us pretend that doesn’t apply to us. It does - without exception.

I can’t unknow that any longer and it is the lesson I’m grateful I’ve learned before death because it makes life richer, deeper, sweeter, and more peaceful. It’s not that there is no pain, hardship, tragedy, or suffering for me now. There is. It's not that there wasn't trauma in the past. There was.

The point is this. There will always be fear and difficulty, hardship, and even trauma. But there is also, always, all this bliss. I used to think focusing on the joyful, happy, and good was a luxury for the rich and privileged. I was wrong. Living with awareness of what and who is beautiful and within reach doesn't make me superficial, insensitive, or self-indulgent.

I was wrong about that.

Now, I’m too hungry for life and all of life's bounty not to savor every delicious bite.

Cross-posted to my www.healwritenow.com website.