Joy - The Red Hand Files (2024)

I love your perspective on joy, that there is an active component in it. I think there's truth in that. I think you can definitely find joy in the routines we build for ourselves, but in my experience it tends to come more from the surprises than anything else.

There's a quote from James Clear that I love "Happiness will always be fleeting because your needs change over time. The questions is: what do you need right now?"

I think there are certain activities that more often than not bring me joy. Things like cooking a meal for my family, training martial arts with friends that push each other to be better or a bike ride early in the morning to catch the sunrise. More often than not, these experiences provide purpose + reason for being. But sometimes they don't, sometimes they're tiresome or deplete me rather than energise me.

I think this push + pull is part of life. There is no silver bullet, cure-all for finding joy. I just try + listen to my body to figure out what I need in that moment. I don't always get it right, but by surrounding myself with good people and doing activities that challenge me mentally + physically, that's usually a good way to find joy.

I find joy in watching my dog run, in feeling the wind on my face, in hearing about people rescuing and protecting animals. I often feel it in many of the natural things, trees, plants, flowers, birds, music, books, art and so on.

What I wonder about is how brief the joy is, it bursts in and then goes again, usually under a cloud of thoughts.

Oh, elusive joy. You’ve been so scarce since my mother died when I was five.

I am 67, with the full and privileged and un endangered life mentioned in your intro to the question, Nick. Over the years, joy has appeared briefly in the cracks (Leonard Cohen, who borrowed from Rumi). Joy appeared when I married my good husband, when our sons were born, when they married their beloveds. When my husband looks at me with absolute love and trust.

But my anguish over losing my mother so suddenly, so cruelly, so completely - it shattered me so that I am an incomplete person. I appear to have it all, my shell is intact and only very few know what is underneath.

I’ve given up on happiness, but I haven’t given up on joy. Joy comes to me when singing in our exceptional women’s choir, when I stop to listen to birds, when I hear and feel the wind blowing through the tall trees in the forest, when I - oh miracle! - come across a spider, spinning her web. It stops me in my tracks. When the same spider’s egg sac opens a few days later, and bravely, out merge hundreds of little spiders, so easy to miss. Here’s joy, many times over!

I feel it is a state of being rather than just being a state of mind or emotion, as happiness might be interpreted as. In a sense, I see it as more long term or even partly unnoticed by our daily thought process of conflicting feelings and ideas. Like you said, it’s a decision and an action. It seems to take lots of practice and a fair amount of experience to cultivate a state of joy. It’s definitely not something any of us could switch off and on.

Laying stones around that idea of joy, I feel I have come most close to it when I am able to simplify my life in way with much presence involved. To simplify, I don’t mean in terms of any lesser or greater of the doing of things, but more about how I interpret what I witness in my daily life. There’s little control involved with the events of life, but every moment seems to have an opportunity to create something. Creating seems to encapsulate big joy and creation comes in endless forms. These moments may not all be a Sunday walk in the park, but through even heartache and loss, we can find gifts of openness in the dark, in the mind and heart. There’s creation in learning how to grieve and not just in an artistic sense as in writing a song, but also in how we celebrate that subject of loss and grief or how we integrate that person, thing or idea into the very core of our being. Creating an entirely different being within it. I suppose I’m trying to find joy within the act of life itself…a work in progress.

Beauty.

Love.

Simplicity.

Joy can be like Joni Mitchell's paved paradise: You don't (always) know what you've got 'til it's gone. I relearned this lesson with the loss of our little Budgie, Cocobird.

We have other pets, two dogs and a new bird, but it's not the same. I'd sing a birdied-up version of Good Morning Starshine when uncovering Cocobird in the morning, and a similar version of the Beatles' Good Night.

For her evening song, just before completing the covering, I'd lean in and whisper to her that I was working or home the next day. Of course, she wouldn't be able to understand, but she always moved to the lower perch & leaned in to hear. It made her very happy and it was very endearing.

I did not realize the inordinate amount of Joy she'd added to my life until she died. I'm about your age and I've suffered many, many losses in my life, but losing the Joy that Cocobird gave me made me consider this question about Joy, and why it was so difficult to regain.

For me, it came down to this: I think we receive Joy when we create Joy for others. It's like a magician who is, him or herself, amazed by a trick and seeks out the answer. They can no longer experience the same wonder at the effect that they'd felt before they knew how it worked. But they can experience that reflected wonder by performing it for others, and seeing in their participants' eyes that sense of wonder the trick had first given them..

I think Joy works like that, in a way. We may not feel joyful, but through acts of kindness and care, we bring Joy to others. And, whether we refinish it at the time or not, we benefit from that.

Nick, I think this happens at your performances, which are themselves a form of magic & transference. I hope that you're able to feel that wonderful reflected Joy, and that you never have to know what you had 'til it's gone.

- Recap. Take time to recap your day, or your week. Make note of all the good things you did or enjoyed. Do this with friends or family members and share in their good things as well, receiving your own joy from theirs.

- Shift perspective. It's easy to become frustrated or exhausted by the endless to-do list and responsibilities. But shifting perspective makes a responsibility into a privilege. If I have dishes to do, that means I have food to eat. If I have a house to clean, that means I have a shelter for myself and my family etc.

Both of these things are exercises in gratitude. That's the "how". The "where" is much more down to the individual, obviously. I'm sure my answer here will be fairly common but, for myself, I find joy in free time spent with my wife, children, family, friends; any time in nature; seeing my loved ones doing well or flourishing; listening to music, the communal catharsis of live music, and the process of writing/creating music/art. Few things bring me more joy than being around a campfire, with good music, cold beers, and good friends. All too rare these days, but that's what makes it so special.

When I was very young I evidently had a fascination with the flowering of a fuchsia in our garden. My grandfather had sat watching me tug at the flower heads and then carefully separate the layered symmetry of petals and stamen, arranging them into patterns on a stone step.

He imagined himself seeing a fledgling botanist!

I'm now far from young, and with a life spent as painter, not a botanist!

I was reminded recently of a quote from Cezanne:

"The immensity, the torrent of the world, in a little inch of matter."

Joy, for me, comes from those moments when I'm able to rediscover that sense of wonder in what is most perfect and perhaps most fragile, and now too easily overlooked.
The torrent of the world in every inch of matter.

Joy vs Joyful

Joy is a feeling of delight and happiness at any given moment
Joy is not always something sought, it can happen unexpectedly

Joyful is a deep collective of those moments of joy
Joyful is an attitude of contentment and sharing of joy

The experience of Joy hopefully leads one to being Joyful and sharing those experiences with others, so to me:

Joyful Is

Joyful is the crisp fresh air on a cold and frosty morn
The sweet sound of birds stirring before the dawn
A particular friend on whom you can rely
When times are tough and you need a good cry

Joyful is leaves in the park from trees gently falling
Whilst deep in thought and duty is calling
Someone you know who always treats you fairly
When you are hurt and things are a bit scary

Joyful is a colourful garden in the early spring
The scent of flowers and the joy that they bring
The delight of an unexpected phone call
When you are really down and feeling small

Joyful is not feeling scared nor completely alone
Calling on a friend when you are on your own
Being able to say what you really feel
Without being hurt or feeling unreal

Joyful is talking it out and sharing a hurt
Content that you wont be treated like dirt
Writing letters and knowing they are read
With understanding and trust no hate there instead

Joyful is a companion with whom you can share
Life’s bumps and knocks knowing that they care
Being out with friends having food you enjoy
A quiet cosy corner with no noise to annoy

Joyful is a beautiful woman excitingly dressed
The smile on her lips and feeling you are blessed
An intimate evening of enjoyment and trust
A kiss and a cuddle not overshadowed by lust

Joyful is keeping a confidence not making demands
The velvet touch of tender loving hands
A lovely face and beautiful lips
The sweet scent of a body an intimate kiss

Joyful is the flight of an eagle the coo of a dove
Walking the dog pets showing their love
Fulfillment of wishes and enjoyment of life
Open discussion and friendly advice

Joyful is the love of a woman her tender caress
Her voice when she speaks enjoying her dress
Her beautiful smile so gentle and refined
Alive and glowing soothing and kind

Joyful is enjoyment of long nights lovingly talking
The sun on your face in company whilst walking
People you trust not letting you down
Buying new clothes shopping in town

Joyful is watching people you know enjoying success
Helping a friend when they are under duress
Enjoying the sunset wherever you are
Sharing the seaview comfortable in your car

Joyful is seeing the sun rise with the love of your life
Realizing you love someone staying out of strife
Obeying the law even though it is an ass
Keeping your temper with those who are crass

Joyful is driving a new car thunderstorms and rain
Observing nature a full field of grain
Sailing on the ocean the wind in the sails
Animals in the bush following new trails

Joyful is a playful young kitten with a roll of cotton
Telling people you love they are not forgotten
Contacting a friend writing a long letter
Going to the beach striving to do better

Joyful is the sun on your body stretched out on a blanket
Reading a good book buying fruit at the market
Team enjoyment and the thrill of winning
Starting over again making a new beginning

Joyful is a walk in the park not being alone in the night
A caress in the dark avoiding a fight
A hard days work soothing hot baths
The warm body of your lover colourful silk scarves

Joyful is watching a movie with someone you love
Having friends in for dinner delicate hands in a glove
Snow on a mountain quiet times in the bush
Babbling brooks in winter a lovers playful push

Joyful is listening to music watching artists you enjoy
Travel in the country young children with a new toy
Meeting new people visiting wide open spaces
Crowds in the street observing their faces

Joyful is waiting in anticipation a special event
Getting money unexpectedly you had forgotten you lent
Familiar faces in situations of stress
Calm understanding trying your best

Joyful is flying in aeroplanes observing storm clouds
Thoughts of special people being together in crowds
Enjoying your partner when together you are
The afterglow of lovemaking thoughts from afar

Joyful is having things in common events that you share
Wishing you were together knowing they care
Understanding the feelings of lovers apart
Sharing your mind affairs of the heart

Joyful is people you care for conveying your thought
Listening to feelings able to be taught
Happily showing your love without any fear
Enabling people to grow even though they are not near

Joyful is reflection on loved ones who have passed
Remembering the good times and feelings that last
Family and friends and things that you shared
Overcoming the longing and knowing they cared

Joyful is listening closely to people sharing Gods love
Overcoming hurt and despair being blessed from above
Friendship understanding love and compassion
Cherished gifts all when used in the right fashion

Not everyone has the privilege to know
Joyful people who help others to grow

To me Joyful people are special I hope you agree
With these simple Joys of Life and share them with me

[ ] The tour is so close now, my whole body is buzzing. I can close my eyes and feel myself standing in a throng of people, in eager anticipation. You and the AMAZING Bad Seeds entering the stage. The closeness, the surrender to the collective lifting of the spirit reaching for the rapture.

The incredible new songs, the beloved old songs. You towering above us, terrifying and familiar.

That is pure joy. And I can't fucking wait!

Right now my heart is broken due to circumstances beyond my control. And through the mere velocity of life itself I again find myself at the rim of the unknown. Amidst all of these things, I think I have been trying to grapple towards joy or at least something akin to it.
With that long preamble, here is what I think about how I find joy: I think it finds me. I believe it is threaded through life and the potential of it is always present. For me, it seems that when I’m tuned into life around me, the real stuff, such as people or nature or art or God, joy does come to visit me. I believe that the world is constantly humming, reverberating. We are part of this reverberation. I think it is a combination of a quality of attention and humility or openness to the world that allows me to be aware of joy in all of its configurations. An exchange occurs. And sometimes as I result, I can find joy. I think I read somewhere you said joy is hard-earned. I certainly agree with that.
Maybe in pain sometimes life can begin to shine a bit more brilliantly. Maybe it’s just one way the world loves us back. I honestly have no idea. But at this moment this is as close as I can get to how I find joy.
The beautiful poem by Pablo Neruda titled “The Sea and the Bells” speaks to me of this. One line in particular resonates:

“We need to sit on the rim of the well of darkness and fish for the fallen light with patience.”

To answer your question about joy, as my life has not been one of privilege, I find joy in moments of deliberate mindfulness. Small rituals like a steaming cup of tea or the pages of a beloved book become microcosms of joy, tiny testaments to life's quieter beauty.

Creating music, art, or words mirrors the unfiltered exuberance you describe with The Bad Seeds. I find joy in the transition from chaos to harmony, seeing dissonant thoughts sculpt into melody, sentences, or images.

Joy also lives in grief's shadow. The spaces left by loss let joy enter like light through a shattered window. It’s found in handwritten letters to those who can no longer read them or in the reverent silence of an old song.

In essence, joy is an act of both defiance and acceptance, a way to let simplicity's tender grace thrive amid life's struggles. It lives in the dance between presence and memory, in every sound, touch, and intentionally drawn breath.

Here's to seeking joy with clear eyes and an open heart.

My brother died last September. In fact it is soon to be his yahrzeit, a year since the day he died. I have not felt joy since his death. I worry I may never do so again. I am trying as hard as I can to stay open, to allow myself to feel whatever comes my way, including positive things. But joy feels quite out of reach. I am hopeful for happiness. And I have miraculously had a few moments of fun, thank goodness. But joy? I worry that it's a path that has permanently closed off for me, like feeling carefree.

What I *have* experienced is awe, both in the natural world which I explore deliberately each day, and in communication with others who know grief. I *have* experienced satisfaction, in art and creative endeavors, as well as that unpredictable wellspring of human conversation and connection. I *have* experienced pleasure, in interactions with the pure animal souls (and soft coats) of my darling pets.

Maybe awe, satisfaction, and pleasure are elements of joy, and I'm building toward the capacity for feeling joy. Maybe not, and I might just have them on their own. I focus on nature, art, animals, and genuine connection with others, in the hopes that these things will bring me positive feelings.

My guess is that many of us, you included, will identify these things as well. And it isn't enough, is it, to identify these things and do them, because joy is still fucking elusive. There's some magical fairy dust, ineffable and ephemeral, that must be sprinkled over it all. We don't control when and where it's sprinkled. We just hope that a shower of fairy dust finds us in the midst of a conversation, hike, or art project, and feel grateful when it does, I suppose.

I want to share my joy because it didn't come easily to me, just as it doesn't seem to come easily to Nick.

I was a rather sad child, constantly worrying about things—from my parents' financial strain and the illnesses of family members to my inability to be like the other children at school, and even the state of the world in the 1980s and '90s. These concerns led to difficulties in establishing social connections and a general lack of joy.

One day, a long time ago now, I decided to give the world one last chance before deciding whether to stay in it. I started to smile at people and say "hi," looking for a few who might want to hang around. I'm pretty certain it was an awkward sight at first, and no doubt it must have seemed forced.

Still, it changed my life. Not in a day, not even in a year, and it certainly wasn't just this—many other things happened too. I now have quite a lot of friends and a large social circle. I lead a genuinely good life without any major problems.

Today, I can say that greeting, complimenting, sometimes winking, or laughing warmly at people in the street, in shops, during bike rides, or on public transport has become a great source of joy for me. Most often, people respond. Most are warm. Many are funny. Many are grateful. Some conversations are short and superficial; others are a bit longer and deeper. These interactions often lead to a sense of connection with the diverse world around me. I define this feeling as joy.

Maybe this could be an inspiration?

I find joy in the knowledge that I am not alone in the world, that this path of life, of what it is to be human, is not mine alone, however different it may be to anyone else’s path. This collectively shared experience, that we are alive right now and that this is our time to live, gives me joy.

This might seem simplistic, but for me, dwelling on this fact opens the door to find joy in other aspects of life. It helps me to engage with, and be aware of, both the fickleness of life and the sheer beauty of it. I can then readily feel joy from other things that I experience and encounter every day – for me these are nature, people, music, and children’s smiles and laughter, to name a few.

What brings people joy will be different for everyone, but I do find that reminding myself of my mortality, not meaning to be morbid about it, has the galvanising effect of imploring me to bury my woes and appreciate the good and the beauty that exists in the world.

My son gave me two tickets for a concert on August 31, 2024, as a Christmas gift in 2023. [ ] My son is 23 years old, and I’m 52. He’s studying computer science and works part-time as a bartender to make ends meet; I never studied and work a 9-to-5 full-time job to make ends meet. It probably wasn’t easy for him to afford the Christmas gift. He got the second ticket and was excited about the concert with me. In the past, we’ve had our ups and downs. I used to worry when I noticed a tendency toward materialism in him. That has passed. He fell in love with a woman who radiates joy and moved in with her – a bit impulsively, I thought, so we rarely saw each other.

On August 30, 2024, just after midnight, I listened to Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ "Wild God" album for the first time. I played it 6 or 7 times throughout the day, told my wife and daughter about the highlights I discovered in the album, and raved to my friends in a euphoric daze via text messages. Later, I felt a bit embarrassed by the overwhelming emotions.

On August 31, I met my son. We sat down together, talked, set off, grabbed a beer on the way, discussed "Wild God" – I was still deeply impressed and euphoric, while he politely acknowledged it – and finally exchanged our tickets for "Deichkind" at the entrance to the open-air venue. It felt like a journey through two different worlds in just two days. That was my joy. And his. And ours together.

After "Deichkind" I went to the tram to join my beloved wife and daughter, and he went to his love. We said goodbye for an indefinite time. Even in the farewell, there was so much joy that I know I can keep this feeling like a souvenir and easily bring it out whenever I want.

That almost question made me cry.
I know it sounds stupid, but when I looked deep inside of me for an answer, I somehow ended up feeling despair and, at first, found nothing.

But as I'm taking a step back and try to look at the question from a safe distance, there is one possible answer.

And you already gave it.
"Brought into focus by what we have lost."
But I don't want to think of those moments, the things that gave us joy, as lost. Nothing is gone until we forget.

So we have to practice remembering these things.
That way, we could possibly be able to develop a better ability to grasp it more clearly as we experience it.

Like I did while writing this. I looked past everything that brought me here, looking for some deep and thoughtful answer, only to face a wall. But then I stepped back and I saw all those memories. And I suddenly knew.

What brings me joy is opening my eyes. From there onwards, everything is a blessing. Once some bleak shit comes your way, I think you learn that the cliche of stop and smell the flowers is there for a reason. We're here, and we're so lucky to be here.

On days when the gratefulness doesn't come as easily, I try to project cheerfulness onto others around me, be it a random compliment to a stranger or lending a listening ear to someone else.

All in all, it's not that deep. Everything is hauntingly beautiful if we don't stick our heads too deep into our own arses.

I enjoy the fleeting moments of joy when:

I am lying in a bed with clean sheets against my skin
I experience the smell of rain after a dry stint
I smell the sun on a newly washed towel I am using to dry myself after a bath/shower
I watch the distant rays of sun expand out from underneath clouds to reach the earth
I’m cold water swimming in the sea (the colder the better)
I’m reading an inspiring book in the sunshine
I am listening to music that moves me to dance
I recognise my humanity in a work of art
I recognise myself in another person
I come home from an exhausting day of work
I am on an adventurous inter-state road trip
I find a treasured item in an op shop like the CD-Songs of Love and Hate by Leonard Cohen
I am walking in the Australian forest emanating with the smell of gum leaves and sounds of native birds singing
I am inspiring a student on their learning journey through my teaching or passion for the Arts
My teen replies to my text messages with love hearts
My youngest dances to music with passion and commitment
My children use their pocket money to buy me a special gift
I listen to second-hand vinyl on my new turntable
I am snug and warm inside whilst hearing raindrops fall outside against the windowpane
I am keeping dry walking in the rain underneath an umbrella
I am greeted to a new day by lovely natural light coming through the leaves of the lemon tree in my front garden
I am making a work of art that manages to convey the complexity of the idea or feeling I am hoping to express
I discover a new artist, writer, poet, musician, director, actress etc. that makes me see the world from a different perspective
A seed I sow manages to push its way through the soil and thrive
I devour a sweet ripe apricot that I have harvested from my tree
I serendipitously encounter another person that I have been thinking about
I am being kept warm by a crackling fire
I smell newly baked bread
I smell the beeswax of a candle that has just been snuffed out
I notice the first signs of spring in new buds and blossoms on trees
I experience the sensation of lush grass underfoot when I’m walking barefoot
I catch the sun’s rays whilst swaying in a hammock
I hear someone else laugh with unbridled joy
Someone acknowledges my effort
I am on a swing
I hear conversations in other languages
I hear one of my favourite songs in a cafè or other venue
I see the expanse of a rainbow after a storm
I hear frogs in my local environment
I get a message or call from someone I haven’t heard from in a while
My body recovers after having fallen ill
I glimpse the shadows creep across my bedroom in the morning light
I watch the swallows swooping and gliding energetically through the sky
I spot a wedge tailed eagle
I marvel at the stars and night sky away from the city on a clear night..........

Two years ago I was in a very dark place, until I hit my limit... my Long Dark Night, if you will. I had to find joy again. And it was, as it is now, very much in seeing the beauty in the little things.
The beauty of sunlight hitting a leaf just right, the beauty of steam rising from my first cup of tea in the morning. Wet grass under my bare feet.

And I have found that my little moments of joy has started to accumulate, and all around me I see little sparks of beauty and magic.
I try to be in constant awe of the world around me, there is so much to discover. That is what brings me joy in my daily life.

Joy is a state of mind and a choice. Despite my own depressive tendencies, I can choose to think of my grandchildren or marvel at the beauty of Creation. As a Christian, I have knowledge of my Salvation and being a child of “Abba Father” [a term of endearment like Dearest Father]. My feelings may vary but pondering on this knowledge ie recalling the worthiness of God benefits me, the follower of my Master who does not need the worship just as I don’t need the worship/loyalty from my dog.

I find music a powerful method to get into joy. It is hard not to feel the greatness of God as 70’s Christian rock band, Petra, pump out “Adonai Master of the earth and sky”. I enjoy many good hymns and modern artists like Casting Crowns, Chris Tomlin, Lauren Daigle, Hillsong Worship and many more.

I have found reading Psalms can increase joy. There is something about reading lyrics that Jesus sung when growing up. A large number of Psalms are pleading with God after screwing up.

The advice of the old hymn "Count Your Blessings" works when you focus on being a child of God. So despite material wealth, leaving in a peaceful land etc, these have no eternal value as I look forward to the other side of eternity when the suffering of the world will cease. That is pure joy.

I once heard a pastor say that the best way to find joy was in the pursuit of either beauty or justice. And there’s a lot to be said for that. But at an even more fundamental level than that, I find my joy in love. Love for my children. Love for my wife. Love for my friends and loved ones. For the complete stranger that is as beautiful a human being as the next one. Love for this beautiful world we live in. Love for riding bikes through the forest. Love for listening to beautiful music, new or old. Love for reading poems and being moved to tears by words someone wrote down, far away and a long time ago. Love for the fact that Oasis are getting back together. Love for the fact that though I’ve gone bald now I'm in my forties, I can finally grow a beard. Love for the great things, as well as for the stupidly trivial.

Love
Beauty
Justice
These three things.

I find joy in wonder and I can get into a state of wonder by consciously giving my attention generously to people, nature, works of art or just things. But often, I cannot take a fully conscious moment for long, shy away from what I perceive and direct my attention elsewhere. It is almost as if I ran away from what I know gives me most pleasure.

I remember having sweet shocks of consciousness since I was a child. Moments of total awe, in which I felt galvanized by the pure, sensual and conscious perception of the world. This galvanization almost felt like there was an electric fence around an ecstatic dimension of the world, which I just had to lean over to see the other side. There, I used to perceive an abundance of intense life that I felt deeply connected and drawn to whilst not understanding it at all, which made it appear magical and indeed, gently shocking. But I seem to have become afraid of the fence lately and I have been wondering why.
There is a wonderfully open and bare quality to experience and consciousness on the other side, which I used to enjoy. But this openness began to scare me. There was a sadness inside of me that only grew stronger the more I tried to repress and contain it over the past years. And the more the sadness grew, the more I worried that on the other side of the fence, in this open realm of wonder, all containers and dams that I had built around my sadness would evaporate and I would drown in a flood of bottomless grief.

This changed about two months ago when I listened to “Into My Arms”. When the chorus came on for the first time, I started to cry and could not stop for almost 24 hours except for a short interruption of sleep. Next morning, my girlfriend had to leave for work and I went to the library to work on my PhD. But I found myself crying there again, so I had to go back home because I felt embarrassed. At home, I kept on crying and sat at the piano, playing the song to explore the wondrous feelings I was getting from it. I always kept an ear at the door because I wanted to force myself to stop once my girlfriend got back so she doesn’t see me crying. Eventually, I stopped playing, lay in bed and put in earplugs because there was a very loud construction going on in the apartment next door. I didn’t hear the door, missed my girlfriend’s return and she found me crying in bed. I feared the sight of my sadness would worry her, burden her, make her sad, too. But she simply came to me, looked at me mildly, and held me in her arms. You (through your song) had helped me over the fence and my partner was willing and able to meet me on the other side.
This feeling of being held in sadness while seeing understanding and love in her eyes changed something fundamental in my life. I had never allowed myself to be sad in front of anyone – only when I could present the “explanation” and “solution” for my sadness and thereby contain it at the same time, because I was worried my sadness would “infect” people. But since this experience I come to trust again that beyond the fence, there is a wonderful place where openness and connection between human beings and with the world – be it in sadness or happiness – is not infectious, but healing and utterly joyful.

I think this for me is the active part you mention in your question: to not be afraid of the fence and trust the world beyond is home.

Indeed, in the 45 years that I've spent on this planet, I've found that I am at my most joyful when I am "in" action, when the action helps me to forget about me. Moreover, I've realised that there are three things that I can do that invariably bring a smile to my face, and that these three things unfailingly cause the biggest sh1t-eating grin to break across my Brendan Grace....

One, throw and catch a frisbee, preferably with someone I love - there is poetry in how that small plastic disc can be made to slice through the air this way and that....

Two, ride a bike, preferably down a hill, even more preferably having first gone up that same hill - O! the exhilaration! O! the joy of making it safely to the bottom after the wind has dried the sweat from your brow!

And three: building a sandcastle.

Joy joy joy!

I think joy is elusive!

It may sound crass some, but i recently posted on social media that money does buy happiness to a certain extent, if not only as means of distraction. This doesn't apply in all instances.
I have a diagnosis of PTSD and my son's
father recently started having seizures. My psychologist asked the same question. Can you find some time during these serious situations to find peace and joy in something. Something that can make you laugh...
I think laughter is so vital! I find joy in anything or anyone who can make me laugh.
My only son also brings me immense joy...

For me joy is to be summoned. Summoning it is a practice I have slowly discovered after many years.

First and foremost, it is crucial to understand what you truly LOVE to do. These activities are always a fast source of joy and a point of easy access to it. When I forget, the activities I love (like clay sculpting or getting a massage) help me remember.

Then, there are those you love. Just being in their presence can do the trick, but sometimes this gets hard, specially when annoyance creeps in. That is when summoning joy can biceome a practice. A conscious one that requires a certain level of discipline.

What really takes me there is realizing that exactly this moment, the one I’m living now, well that’s what life is made up of. This always brings me joy, with a bit of awe and many times some tears too.

In 2009, when I was in my early 30s, my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She had a six-centimeter tumor dancing on her pancreas and “some stuff in her lungs.” I was told this at the Newark airport, having returned from a month in Paris, where I’d squatted at a friend’s while trying to mend a broken heart.

Your question is one that has been a quest of mine since that moment. At the time, I was a flailing filmmaker; my life felt congealed in a noxious swamp: I was waiting to make the next film, hoping blindly to meet a partner in love and life, trying to recover from seemingly intractable bouts of depression, straining to pay the bills in a city that would love to swallow you and your resources whole.

My mother’s diagnosis broke something open in me. Grappling with her reality and the reality of the powerlessness of those around her led me to find my voice as an artist. I dug deeper into myself, into my own pain and despair. I began to write a story wrestling with the question, “Is it possible to find joy in the face of inevitable suffering and demise?”

The answer, or at least my answer, wasyes.But you know that.As you write, joy is a choice, a commitment, a daily recommitment. The bigger insight was that the flip side of joy isn’t heartbreak; it’s delusion. It is living in a toxic fog. It is not seeing what is already here. Joy is waking up from that drugged sleep, seeing with new eyes, again and again.

Falling asleep offers us the chance to wake up—which means to find joy we must play our part: We go to sleep, forget, and develop tired, unseeing eyes over and over. Forgetting isn’t the problem; it’s part of the dance of Lila. I am learning to delight even in my own forgetting, and I offer this pleasure to you.

A short backstory, as common and unique as any- I am an addict, recovering; I live in community housing; I have no savings or super. I am 47, female, never married, though I am graced with being a mother to one exceptionally beautiful, talented, bright, kind daughter. I have lived with suicidal ideation since childhood.

Despite circumstances I consider myself immensely blessed and experience tremendous joy. Counterintuitively, joy is almost formulaic for me; it has become something I can absolutely rely apon. It is found in prescence-in a deep being with what is. With my body, with my child, with music, with my painting, with the natural world. With pain, with fear, with outrage. Fighting nothing, surrendering to it all. God is in everything.

I was reminded of this poem by Andrea Gibson and I thought it was a near response to your question to us.

"A difficult life is not less
worth living than a gentle one.
Joy is simply easier to carry
than sorrow. And your heart
could lift a city from how long
you’ve spent holding what’s been
nearly impossible to hold.

This world needs those
who know how to do that.
Those who could find a tunnel
that has no light at the end of it,
and hold it up like a telescope
to know the darkness
also contains truths that could
bring the light to its knees.

Grief astronomer, adjust the lens,
look close, tell us what you see."

I believe that I’m currently at peace so that I feel joy in the mundane as well as the spiritual.

My wife, D, and I moved to the West coast of Portugal from Scotland at the end of 2023. Our son is at University, relishing the studying and living his life well. His growth, confidence and love allowed us to leave on our own adventure early.

I now wake up, wander to the kitchen where D is drinking her coffee, I smile, say good morning, kiss her cheek and feel good. We’ve been working in our garden and land since early January. I’m a city kid, so this is all new. But wow, breathing, being outside, working physically and emotionally alongside my best friend. At the end of the day, I hop on my bike to ride alongside our local lagoon or alongside the Atlantic. When I return home, I am full of joyful energy, serene and at peace.

I stay in touch with my lovely friends, who reside all over the place via long WhatsApp writing and the occasional chat. Taking time out to think about them and write, whether the text contains sadness, happiness and everything in between feels real and for me is an exercise of unbridled joy.

Lastly, and how much can I describe as bringing me joy :-) quite a bit more, but then I’d fear for you having to read not just all of this letter, but every other one. That too, will I suspect be quite an emotional experience, one that will illicit joy amongst other feelings for you.

Music in particular has been central to my life for as long as I can recall. In my youth, heading into London’s soho exploring independent record shops, drinking an espresso, writing very bad ‘scribe’ and buying far too much. But wow, mostly, this passion has remained, as new sounds and artists emerged and older material either slipped gently away or pops up every now and then as I dig deeper into my collection. On October 27th, I will see you and the bad seeds in Lisbon, and my 60 year old body will undoubtedly revel in the joy of being amongst people of all ages and backgrounds. Feeling the music as well as hearing. My smile will be broad, D will have to listen to my tales when I see her the next morning, my son will probably just shake his head. I cannot wait, I fully hope every other person will feel similar. If they see an old guy wearing shorts and a bright shirt with a big smile, likely it will be me - please say boa trade, Ola, hi. Joy expressed in the simple human act of connection.

It is a shame that sometimes simple joys escape you, it is unfortunately an inevitable part of the human condition. We seek higher highs, as much as we sadly also look out for lower lows, but it is important to remember your privilege of living in a world that is infinitely better in many if not most ways that the world of your ancestors.

But in answer to your specific question, where or how do you find your joy. In my experience the true feeling of joy is in the 'normal,' the 'everyday,' or as I like to put it myself, 'the joy of the mundane.'

It is both easy and difficult to find joy in the mundane, which is why I personally find it so rewarding. It could be smiling at a stranger, and they smile back, it could be wandering around the city on a gorgeous cold and crisp sunny afternoon, it could even be an interesting streetlight, or a sign with an unusual placement or wording that seems incongruous, but makes you smile.

It could be a text from a friend that you text with often, thinking about that you always enjoy, or hearing a song in your head that you love, and thinking "I'm going to put that on later."

It could be finally finishing a little job you've meant to do for ages, or remembering something you've forgotten for such a long time. It could even just be sitting down, taking stock, just letting your mind wander without purpose or reason.

There is joy in all these moments and more. I guess some people would call this the joy of small things, but I don't think that quite gets it. Some of the things may be small, but the fact I find joy in them makes them bigger, quite profound.

But I like the phrase 'the joy of the mundane.' It both undercuts and increases expectation.

Most importantly, it is ordinary. It is commonplace. It happens all the time without you noticing. The trick is to notice these things and appreciate them.

And to find joy.

Although there may be several ways, I will share two ways I reliably find joy. Both of these ultimately reflect moments when my mind is assisted in becoming un-stuck, and this allows for a moment of joy to be experienced, not unlike a sliver of light when caught up in darkness, mentally or physically.

The first way is with an instrument. Not in the grind of crafting a song, nor with any idea in mind. Instead just a free noodling or wandering around with sound and being open. Eventually something like the light comes through with a sound or moment that lifts me from an experience of complacency to one of joy. Sometimes this creates an idea to work with later.

The second is in nature and with some degree of solitude. Specifically nature which includes water, be it the sea or a stream. A body of water that is cut off from flow, while able to support life in some ways, eventually stagnates and becomes unhealthy and stuck. As these bodies which temporarily house us are made of almost entirely water, I feel this may happen within us as well, making it harder to choose joy. So being out in nature alongside a healthy body of water helps me break that stagnancy that may have developed within, creating a life flow which allows for joy to come through.

The last time I really felt it deeply was while spontaneously bursting into silly dancing with my daughter in the kitchen during dinner-making one evening last week.

Form this I would conclude that my joy is not earned. It just bubbles up when I am light, connected to the moment for no reason other, than because I am alive, and it helps to behave sillily.

But I can also recall experiences of evoking joy in a more orchestrated way, maybe a bit like the practice you are referring to.

During the covid lockdowns and in between, I regularly took our dog out for walks in the nearby overgrown almost deserted common. While walking I started to photograph anything that sparked joy or maybe in other words, recognition and connection. At the end of a walk, I would regularly feel uplifted.

Continuing this, I made a point of not thinking about the act of photographing, its merit and what it said about me, a professional photographer of over 15 years.

This joy that guided me, tasted different to the silly bubbly one. It felt more aware and more complex but like the other one, it was generously there, like a puddle on a path.

Over the years this practice has given me something, almost like a fabric, with which I can connect, something alive that is not human, something bigger I can tap into and find joy and solace in.

It doesn’t always work, the tapping into and the connecting, but this experience has fundamentally altered my sense of belonging.

Common answer is probably in the little things. I always thought it was a cliche, but it seems to be true.

I had a mental breakdown almost a year ago to the day and things were bad, really bad. Yet somehow, everyone I knew and everyone I met because of it, family, friends, co-workers and doctors, rallied around me and supported me more than I could ever imagine.

I felt taken seriously, I felt listened too and most important I slowly felt not ashamed anymore. I'm still recovering, but it seems so weird now how different my mind was a year ago. The bad thoughts feel less bad. The less control I try to have over what goes on in my head, the more in control I feel. And suddenly, after 15 years of feeling slightly insane, somehow I could enjoy the little things again. And everytime I catch myself enjoying the puzzle in the paper or the way my garden is coming together my joy grows even bigger. I never thought I could have this again. And I never experienced the love that people have for me in such a profound and almost tangible way.

it wasn’t until after reading your question that I realised I have never interrogated myself on the matter of joy.

Reflecting on where I find it, the spectrum of possibilities seems to be infinite, but as you elegantly put it, joy is “a practised decision of being”, which entails a much deeper inquiry than just making a conscious list of its whereabouts.
To think of the myriad places where it hides and resides (love and art, beauty, nature, spirituality, peaceful solitude, profound connections, the list could go on and on) makes me see how beautifully complex the question of joy is.
To me, all these varying homes joy makes for itself are a consequence of it being intricately woven with the fabric of life. But how to find it if one doesn’t know where to look?

I have heard you use the metaphor of your lovely song’s leaping frogs talking about joy in interviews. Thinking about this, a question came to mind that I could not ignore:
what propels the frogs to leap? Or, better put, how do we recognise the propelling force driving the jump?
My answer, after some consideration, was: by acquainting it. By exploring the feeling potential of our hearts and souls inside this cosmic (dis)order. When we allow ourselves to feel, when we roam through dark places, we come to see a kaleidoscope of emotions that we would not have seen otherwise. And that is what shoots us up. Joy is just like the stars, Nick: they’re always there, brightest and most visible in the deepest darkness, but we must remember it takes our conscious effort to look at the sky to really see them.

So, to answer your question, the way I find joy is by acquainting intimately the tingling force that prompts the leap and when it comes, stretching out to the sky with open arms and taking it all in!

Joy turns out to be difficult to describe.

So, in no particular order, here are some of the things that, on reflection, I have found to be joyful.

Dancing.
Fine food.
Hearing my children laugh for the first time after their brother passed away.
Computer programming.
Eating after a prolongued period of hunger.
Seeing my wife.
The first beer.
Playing the drums.
Exercise.
Fixing my home.
Listening to music.
The kindness of other people.
Mushrooms.
Cooking.

The difficulty comes in understanding any underlying thread that connects these moments.
I think they can roughly be divided into two camps - the doing, and the experiencing.

The doing: relates to your description of joy - a choice of action, to practice, or to create.
The experiencing: this requires one to be alert to what is going on externally.

The common thread to me is that I'm no longer aware, perhaps, of my 'self'. I've reached a state of flow, or peace and maybe I have become unmoored from time.

I sometimes have difficulties in finding joy, it doesn't seem to come as natural to me as to some of my loved ones. I have lost some people very close to me and often i find it difficult to live on without them. It hurts and it doesn't always seem worth it to endure. A pain you are most familiar with, no doubt.
I have found that it helps to find joy by starting with something much easier. Finding gratitude. There is always a lot to be grateful for, even if you are in a dark place, you can be grateful for having been in so many lighter places before. And seeing these things, listing them in my head, fills me with so much gratitude that it lightens my mood. And being in a lighter mood, joy often finds me. Or at the very least, contagiously joyful people will.

Thank you for your music, it has been the soundtrack to much of my life. From my pet rats named Nick and Cave in the nineties, to meeting my love in the zeros, to carrying all my kids and losing my daughter in the tens, to dancing with my family in lockdown, to reading every RHF procrastinating at work. Thank you.

I heard this bit of dialogue on the tele, directed to a returned world traveller:
"What's the smallest thing you saw?" asked his friend, a murderer-for-hire.
"Human kindness," responded the broken man, without missing a beat.

I almost jumped from my chair at that. I've often been almost accused of seeing the glass-half-full, but what I actually seek out is the odd, the outlier, the weird and the the wicked, the perfection in every direction I look—in a face, in a patch of sky, in a gesture. That is joy because joy is simply an awareness of all life, a prism refracting.

I find joy when I create my own reality in which I feel at home. I find joy when the joyful things find each other and sparkle.

[ ] Aside from the big and obvious In-your-face-joy, it is the little stuff that hits the right emotional and personal spot that brings me joy.

[ ] In addition to working on it by yourself and stay positiv, I think deep inside you, you always have to want to embrace joy. If you go with your own flow, stay open and don’t force anything, joy will appear. Sometimes when you do not expect it at all. Because it’s all connected.
Maybe I find joy more frequently than I thought I would.

A smile from a stranger on the train.

Which got me thinking and observing.

Staying aware and open to the little things: watching my family sleeping, the kindness of strangers like the smile on the train, the feelings of nature on my senses (cold ocean, light breeze, smells of mowed lawn, winter sun on my ranga skin, sunrise...), the greeting from my dogs, the hugs of my family, the sounds of laughter and music and birdsong, the roar of a crowd, and all the exquisite paralympians...

The cornmeal scattered through the bottom of a spent Domino’s pizza box, which I am compelled to gather up in a pinch.

On the one hand, the substance seems redundant. It has no flavour, nor smell and is an anaemic, sickly yellow. On the other hand – the one working the coarse grain between its thumb and the trench created between my closed index and middle fingers – the substance is everything. Everything because in the brief, pointless time spent indulging its odd texture, everything else seems to fade away for a moment.

It is from this quiet refuge from the chaos of daily life that I start to notice the things that are always there. All of them supposedly pointless in the scheme of the universe – a realisation that just makes my opportunity to experience them feel even more unlikely and intoxicating.

And so it builds, from the feeling of cornmeal to the sight, smell and sound of Hackney on a hot summer’s night, onwards to the taste of unconditional love in the tears of my son.

All of a sudden, life feels so replete with feelings engineered exclusively or coincidentally for my enjoyment, that I am overwhelmed into a state of joy.

All that for a £12 pizza… Why the fuck am I still paying 100 quid for Nick Cave tickets??

I have been pondering a lot on what brings me real joy. I had so many things coming up but most of them involve other emotions, too. Remorse, sadness, grief.

And then I remembered a recent excursion in a majestic spruce forest at a high altitude where I suddenly discovered a very tiny bright blue mushroom in the moss standing alone in the sunshine filtered by the trees. A true beauty, a discovery, a new species for me, I was suddenly forgetting about myself, just kneeling in the moss, admiring.
Yes.
Its scientific name is Entoloma nitidum, just in case :)

I found this really hard to answer because joy, for me, is quite hard to come by these days. It's been eaten by the slow gnawing pain of every day stress. At least that is my guess. It has been like this for a few years now and that got me thinking: what caused this loss?

There has been no other, new trauma since then, just stress. Well - and a loss of... home. This sounds worse than it is - we bought a house a few years ago and still are renovating it because there is a lot to do and money is scarce.
So it is our home - but it does not feel like it. It's a building site. And that bothers me more than I thought it would.

I always had nice homes. I was lucky that way. I also believe that you can always make something out of something - so "making a home" was something I could do really well I guess.
Our last place was a really beautiful rented flat in a city I love and I still miss it after almost 3 years. In my memory it gets even better over the years - because that's what nostalgia will do.

Having that place and loving it so much brought me a lot of joy. It was a joy to come home - opening the door and seeing the light stream out to greet me. Having time and motivation to care adequatly for that place was a joy. Just being there and living there often was enough to bring me joy.

Of course there used to be a lot of other things to bring me joy, like creating stuff or a good movie. Music of course - but the stress of not being quite at home here slowly eats my capability of feeling joy.
So I am left hoping that I can make a home from this mess, one day soon. And I hope that visiting your show in just a few days time will give me back a bit of what is slipping away.

I often think of joy’s fundamental nature as a taunt for all the ways we attempt to wrestle it into being, only to lose it the next instant. All throughout my life, joy’s haunting has whirred away in me like faulty mechanics, dull but continual. I was never sure what to do about that feeling, it drove me insane. But in recent times I’ve come to understand that’s just what joy is. It is more noticeable in its absence and it’s often visible only through a kaleidoscope of lack. For all of its lightness, joy bears heavy punctuation in a life.

Have you read the German poet Rilke’s musings on it? I like this stanza:

"Then we
who have known joy
only as it escapes us,
rising to the sky,
would receive the
overwhelming benediction
of happiness descending.”

(https://rilkepoetry.com/duino-elegies/tenth-duino-elegy/)

If joy’s hall-of-mirrors mockery in our human lives falls away in our eternal lives (and if one’s only belief about death is an eternity of nothingness then this fact would still hold true) then maybe this earth-bound haunting is OK? Maybe we just have to position ourselves to be in on the joke? Not wistful or wanting for something else but a playful opponent - ready to pass into joyful reveries when they come but also seeing them as transient, not owed; not owned. Joy comes in; joy goes out.

That’s how I’ve come to think of it anyway.

[ ]

My Joy

When I look beyond myself,
my physical self, my self-tracked atoms
my bagged, wet flesh and my well-worn bones,
I see all directions and find my joy.

My joy in Freddie Mercury,
in his voice of frayed spun stars
arching out across the Wembley Stadium
splintering into indelible motes, his burning core
forever in theirs, in mine.

I hear everything; I am the vibrating air
inside the tiny drum, simply a space
made real by my place, a void meant only
for filling, for a time.

My joy in Leonard Cohen's deepening sigh,
The endless well of a warm embrace,
I follow the light through the crack in everything
to see him sing of his golden voice, to grin with the crowd rising
around him in a wave of peak humanity;

I am the holding tight and the letting go,
The palm on palm, the eternal grace
after communion. I am beyond joy,
cleansed, released, renewed.

My joy in the first bars of Inner City Blues,
tintinnabular pulse, hands-on-skin breath,
in which all folk are gathered in grey light,
in soft rain, in silhouettes that frame their love
curling like smoke from singed hearts everywhere;

I play the words like the black and white keys
music rippling and running
tunes I here but cannot recall,
played and gone.

My joy in first and final words,
At the eastern edge of Steinbeck's Eden,
In the slain waxwing at the cusp of Pale Fire,
In Remembering Babylon, when we finally approach
knowledge, prayer and one another;

I cannot separate joy from bliss,
joy from a deep state of grace,
from fleeting moments of pure contentment,
of lived and remembered gifts of glory.

My joy in the soul of William Blake
in his vision of light shared with Thomas Butts,
in the wildflower, in the grain of sand,
in the gambolling on the echoing green,
the little black boy's mother and her tragic, perfected love.

I dream in the soul of my grandmother,
she never lets me go,
The purest sense of being loved
the embrace that gifts impossible pride.

My joy in my children is absolute.
It fills me to bursting point,
twinned with terror and hurtling time,
their touch, their eyes, their laughter,
Their joy is best of me.

I see the river from my window,
the unseen wind animates the leaves
above the boy walking down the hill
with a bag upon his back.

My joy is my wife, my unbound self,
her clasped hand in the dark of night,
in curves that beckon in the soft sunlight,
in eyes that locked with mine when we met
the moment my heart threw away the key.

I find joy because I seek it,
the blessings rained down on me –
I pick them up, one by one,
stepping round the shit,
straining the blood, the tears
for the hidden ones, until
they circle me like planetary rings
making me nothing
but a strung line of eternity
until I am gone.

I would like to answer the question you asked of your readers regarding where they find joy in their lives. I find joy in a daily practice of appreciation and gratitude. My mother died young from cancer the year I turned 13. It made me realize life is finite with no guarantees of tomorrow. Her memory became an impetus to make the most out of each allotted moment before the fates inevitably clipped my life's thread. So, I decided to make the most out of it.

Just like calendaring a medical appointment, I schedule joyful or meaningful experiences throughout my week to keep in touch with the things that bring me joy. If my life begins to feel tedious, I reassess to make more time for the experiences that center my existence and that give meaning to my life. I actively seek out the pleasures of reading a book, whose language makes me dizzy with happiness, or of spending hours in my art studio painting impossible things (like Apple products in the hands of Madame Pompadour) or listening to incredible music available at my fingertips.

I have study goals to explore new ideas and am endlessly curious. Today, I read about a new mural discovered in Pompeii and a prediction by futurist, Ray Kurzwell, on gaining immortality through the singularity in 2045. What a hoot! There is just so much fascinating information and never enough time to explore it all..

I believe, at least in this moment, that JOY can be found but not pursued. When my daughter was growing up, I would say to her as she left the house, “find the JOY;” and then say a silent prayer, hoping JOY would reveal itself to her. I watched as my father was drained of all happiness via dementia and yet, thankfully, on occasion he was sparked with pure JOY.

JOY is a surprise sent by the universe, available to all who will allow themselves to find it.

Joy is a contronym. In a breath we simultaneously see what we have desired, realised out of what we were so desperately lacking. Joy holds the basking, tactile happiness of a moment, with the felt presence of heartache.

Joy, this deceptively simple word, often mistaken for happiness, is tattooed on the inside of my forearm, written in my young daughter’s handwriting. Its intention to remind me that noticing it is a choice, despite the unyielding weights that beckon. Joy is not an isolated experience, but an interconnected one, part of the woven tapestry of being human. Witnessing joy in another can hold a greater power than feeling our own, a shared power of true togetherness.

Joy enlivens the professed ordinary. The moment of diving into cold water, when the exhilaration tenders your hurt. Watching your child lick an ice cream in utter silence, knowing the haste of childhood. Joy is how art makes you feel, how a song meets your aloneness. It is riding a rollercoaster and holding your fear and excitement in one breath. Joy can be hard to lean into, hard to feel, to surrender into its arms, to trust it won't negate your pain, only show you how much you care.

Joy is a deeply human feeling, that gathers all the heartbreak, grief and loss, and lifts it into the light. When the chasm between the old wound and the realised moment of happiness is at it deepest, the greater the embodied sense of joy. Joy is standing at the forefront of life, steeped in the brilliance of awe, with the full arc of memory and a deep sense of knowing all that it took to get here.

I feel sometimes that joy is a tiny tiny thing that shivers across the shadow of despair and the moment you look for it, try to focus on it, or try to name it, it is gone. Then sometimes, joy engulfs me, wracks my body, rushes my veins and it is huge - but only ever for a moment. And that is never enough but...it is enough.

It is/is it? a glimpse, an ephemera, an exhalation of exultation. It can't be held, or prolonged, or packaged...or sought...or ever found again, in the same moment, the same song, the same sea, the same garden.

Anyway, I read your question, I have thought about it a lot and realise now that I still need to think about it some more. In the meantime, I came across this - on the same day actually [ ] Enjoy!

Don't Hesitate
by Mary Oliver

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don't hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that's often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don't be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

Since the sudden death of my 21 year old son from sepsis last year I have found it bloody hard to find joy in anything, yes I am a fellow griever. It feels disloyal and a betrayal of his memory not to be constantly consumed with grief. Your words however, have provided hope and inspiration that joy can find a way back in. I often refer people to your letters to answer the dreaded - how are you question. On reading one a friend was awed and described the RHF as a service to humanity - they are not wrong!

So thank you Nick for your words and music. They help me recall my sons passion for life and take joy as he would from watching the game, raising a glass, savouring the meal, discovering new music and reading inspiring words.

Two days before my sons first birthday my mother died.
That morning a couple of hours later,
I took a walk in the park as the sun was rising through the bare November trees.
A man approached me while walking his dog cheerfully proclaiming “good morning, it’s a beautiful day!”
I paused for a second and heartily replied “Good morning, yes it is”.
Through the devastation I was experiencing I gave the most cheerful reply I’d ever given to a stranger.
We passed by each other and that was that a small connection between two people who will never meet again.

That small connection with that man changed my whole outlook. I could have trudged trough the park with my head down buried in sorrow but I thought you know what, it is a beautiful morning.

The sun was rising higher and I felt its warm glow on my face. The birds were going about their busy morning business and the autumn leaves delicately danced around my feet. Nature was all around me, I felt my mother all around me like she was giving me a show, doing it for all for me to tell me that things will be alright, as mothers do.
In my sorrow I felt a strange joy that my mum could still comfort me through nature and I could still feel her presence all around me.

Would I have felt all that if the stranger and his dog had not been so friendly, I like to think so but his connection with me spurred me to look around and appreciate the world around me for what is in it and what is no longer.

I think it is these small connections with people, animals or nature that bring joy to us. Bring us hope when there is sorrow, bring us love when there is longing.

The small connections with these things we have along life’s journey can change our outlook brighten our day or make us fall in the floor with laughter, even when we are going through the hardest of times.

Whether its the a smile you share with your baby on his first birthday, your cat running around being a complete nutcase after you’ve had a hard day, a smile shared with a stranger on a train or watching the sunset with your wife and reminiscing on days gone by, these connections, I feel are what bring us joy.
Without these we are lonely, lost and longing for something else.
No matter how small, they can change someone’s world without the giver of the connection even knowing, small joy bullets given out to even the sorriest of souls on a cold November day.

I have had the struggle and the joy of relying on small venues all over the world to allow me space to share my art and attempt to connect to a few unsuspecting guests in attendance. One of the more common irksome suggestions that I receive from said random patrons is to play more upbeat tunes. It is without a doubt that you, yourself along with countless other musicians have probably heard something along the lines of "you're really good but the music is so depressing" or "if you could just kick it up a notch".

I used to resent these suggestions but recently I have started to see them in a different light. As you well know, most of what might be considered "happy" or "upbeat" music in the pop format is built on a foundation of hardship and introspection. Jazz, blues, country music and the like once swirled together in a genre-less environment of metaphysical catharsis. From that came rock and roll, the broadest of all genres in modern music. Rock and roll provided a release from hardship and angst. It tapped humanities essential need to coalesce around a common thread, shedding our insatiable addiction to tribalism, if even for a moment.

Understanding this, I recognize that when I am asked to "kick it up a notch" I'm actually being asked to tap someone's nostalgia for the sweet release that rock and roll once afforded them. While I might not be the person to do that for them, the fact that they are willing to connect with an artist so far as to offer an insight into their mindset is gracious. This makes them anything but a random patron. It makes them a connected soul.

To answer your question more directly, I think joy is found in hardship. It is a struggle to get there but it offers a type of serenity that we might not experience otherwise. It is not a jubilee and there have been times that I have only recognized being in a state of joy once it has passed.

Of course this is just based on my experience. I wouldn't want to discount the wealth of insight from others as I have so many times discounted brilliant observations from "random patrons" of local establishments.

Joy Is (the Poem):

Joy is not a fleeting thing,
a happy bubbling of emotions
to the spirit’s surface.
Joy is deeper than that
Much deeper
Soul deep.
Currents far below the waves
of grins and laughter.

There may be simple pleasures
but there are no simple joys.

A Pied Piper,
Dressed as Presley, Poe & Cash,
taught me that.
As he pranced me through
Murder scenes,
and psychopaths’ personas,
reflected so stark and nimbly,
that many other
good hearted
And high minded
followed him too.

Without a trace of dissonance.
And their hearts rose.

“Why do you listen to that sad music?”, he asked.
“Sad makes him happy.” she answered for me.
That pretty much sums it up,
I thought to myself,
for years.

But it does not sum it up.
There is no therapeutic value in tragedy.
It is not the sorrow that made me happy
But the great joy syringed
by the art of it all,
words, blood and noise.

As soul’s fingers
reach up
from heart’s palms
With the helping hand
of a literary medium,
and echoes of his good seeds
strumming brain waves
caressing heart beats
piano keys touched
and ripple
through thought and emotion,
anxieties, wonders, all.

Transistor brain honing itself
to touch God's universal wisdom
via precious thin frequencies.

Work that refines us
And fine tunes our receptors
So that sometimes the best works
fall upon us like rain.

Joy is the satisfaction found
in and of creative work,
(not creative play)
of our own
and of others,
Holy Inspired
and inspiring
each to the other.

And as the highest of our emotions
are tempered with their opposites,
takes comfort in dualities embrace,
And in the Joy
that lies camouflaged,
deep,
under life giving waters.

We all are privileged. Alive. Human beings. Still, we encounter loss, pain or sorrow and the “escape of joy”. I can strongly connect to this feeling, like sitting on a train on my way home and my thoughts and even the embedding - as it seems - shift to something darker and heavier, something uninvited. But I disagree with the nature of joy as you describe it in your profound words – you are a skillfull writer, and it feels you have a poetic heart and that you could write one or another good song.

I believe that joy does not need to be earned nor it is something we need to actively seek or is a decision. It is true, through the courses of life and our losses, we can sharpen our perception and acknowledge the importance of joy. But we do not need to go through dark ages to experience joy. All of us, also the most innocent and inexperienced, experience joy. Simple joy, as I do not believe there is some kind of advanced joy.

I mostly do find joy unexpected. Joy seems to be a force, a spirit, capable to arise anywhere and anytime, in the smallest situations and interactions. I believe joy is not exclusively to the human condition. I do remember the feeling of a small fish in the mud setting a fin on land, or the wild animal in the woods halfway opening her eyes watching a diffuse landscape.

I think of joy as the heartbeat of life, a constant driver for curiosity. This heartbeat might sometimes just be a faint rumour, often unheard, even overheard during our daily businesses. To discover joy, is it up to us to listen and present time and space. I do find joy when things are playful, when time dezooms and the senses get focused. When actions, words or feelings reach for each other like the hands of lovers, when an easiness enters the scene and everything flows. This moments are sacred and might be rare, but possible, always possible. And from time to time the beat rises as loud as the sound itself, trembling our souls, resonating in us.

I have thought about this and your perspective on what joy is, and partly agree with your assessment that it is "a decision, an action, a practised method of being". Indeed you have previously referred to "joy as armour", which I absolutely relate to.
However, I think joy can be found in many places - sometimes mixed with (or confused with) happiness, pride, or pleasure, but it can also be quite unadulterated - perhaps the best kind. It is, in my experience, fleeting, sometimes unexpected and also possible to repeat.

I find my joy both from within - as that practiced method of being - and then wear it as armour, and find it protects me from knock backs and sorrow. But I also find further moments of joy from people, the natural world or physical experiences.
Things that bring me pure joy - warm sunshine on my skin, listening to or dancing to music with no other distraction, seeing someone I care deeply about achieve something that's important to them.......when blue tits choose to nest in my bird box and they fly in and out........being in the sea. And hearing that explosion noise you make at the end of Babe You Turn Me On is just perfect joy too.
For me it's not groundbreaking or unattainable, but I choose it and that makes all the difference.

I find joy in the smallest of things; the most ordinary of things, such as taking a walk into some trees and discovering a mud puddle of a pond that has newts and turtles in it, or talking to my lovely, elderly grandmother about how she thought her plug-in air freshener was an unknown animal hiding in her basement.

I have never understood those who must travel to receive joy. In my humble opinion, you can move your feet, or you can move your mind. Everything, always, is already there, waiting, right outside your front door.

I find joy the only place it has ever been available: in the present moment.

Joy we have experienced in the past is longing, or nostalgia. Joy we hope to experience in the future is wistfulness or hope. But true, pure joy only exists in the moment where we meet it.

Joy can reach out to us through any one of our senses. Through the touch of someone we love, or the scent of a place we know, or the soothing sound of music, the taste of a familiar flavor, or the sight of sunlight illuminating a cloud.

Joy waits for us in every moment. But would overwhelm us to feel that joy all the time. And this is the value of joy: it rewards us for refocusing our attention from the outstretched span of time to what is immediately around us and deeply within us.

I actually always find my joy when I don't do anything special, but simply do something. Just doing without thinking about it. Without intention, not to earn money, not spending money, not impressing anyone. It's not art, or writing poems; it just happens. And make me happy. I kind of lose myself, so to speak; so when my ego is no more, I am everything.

These are the most beautiful moments of my life.“

When I was young I often felt joy at the unfettered moments, at a party, in a new place, with a new friend, flying somewhere – unbound by routine and not yet fully responsible for anything. I’ve spent a lot of time in my life trying to become so free again. Quitting jobs, moving homes, ending relationships. Anything to have that feeling of airiness, of freedom.

Growing into old age now, I find myself well and truly yoked to a lot of responsibility, not least to my own body. My joy now comes from the evidence that I can meet my challenges. Somehow, I’ve become the wise elder I always needed. My evidence is a sense of quiet rightness. It is confirmation of the path, it is a benediction of the future, it is my release of the past. And that brings a shit ton of joy to my life."

Like you, I find that I have to work for joy. It has diminishing returns as I get older, which I think is one of the things I dislike most about getting older. It's easier for me to remember joy than experience it. Seeing my first professional baseball game, watching Star Wars on the big screen, playing my first gig in a band, having a first date with someone you know is the right person for you.

It's not that I don't experience joy now. It's just different and fleeting. I feel like I have to plan the joy when, in reflection, the most joy I have is when it isn't planned; it's a spontaneous moment that I least expect. Hearing a song by an unknown artist that affects me in ways I haven't been in a while. Taking a nap on a screened-in porch with a cool breeze. Talking to a total stranger, being wholly engaged with their story, and being reminded that there are traits humans possess that come from compassion and selflessness instead of greed and selfishness. That gives me joy.

I agree that joy must be sought. I’ve never stumbled upon joy.

I think now that I find joy in moments of connection – which is why, for me, its true opposite state is probably severance and loss.

Joy is buoyant. There is an uplifting quality to joy. While it lasts, you feel supported.

Sometimes I can “catch” joy. The heart-walloping happiness my dog feels when playing in the river sometimes jumps from him to me.

I occasionally find joy in connecting to nature. I live in Montana, and there is one day every year when I look up and see the snow has returned to the mountains. I’m sure I feel a keen shot of true joy at that moment – though with seven months of winter ahead, I don’t know why that would be.

More often, though, I find joy is connecting with people or my own creativity.

For me, joy and hope tangle and weave through each other. Through Andrew’s cancer we found hope in small words like ‘potential’ or ‘chance’ or ‘future’. We chose joy from this, living a profound togetherness of intensity in touch, conversation, laughter and experiences. Don’t postpone joy became my mantra. We didn’t and now I know the power of living in that space, yet it remains elusive in loss. Finding happiness is easier. It is the surface level cousin of joy, held in a laugh or kind word, interaction or delicious morsel.

Joy is of the soul. It adds to your DNA, opening you up and exposing you to the world with strength and truth. It is the trench digging, consistent, body aching work of living and, once you discover a source that resonates and feeds, it can be funneled and leaned on. For me, words have become a delight in discovery, freed in threads from my mind to the page. Exquisite forms plopped into text, conferring meaning in letters and sounds. Words wrap with comfort, expose rifts slow to heal, provide a soothing salve for relief to pain. Tumultuous, peaceful and integral to how we live, we can choose words that improve our human condition, rather than fray and inflame. The joy is in discovery of the simple, rustic, long used, hardworking words known for generations that conjure life in all its facets. We hear them, tuck them away, and trundle them out unexpectedly, for someone else to do the same. Language provides words to express gratitude; that is a form of joy.

Joy is truth. Truth might be relative, but we all have a version of it. And, when we discover the truth about ourselves and others, we are set free, no matter how painful that might be. Face the truth head on, and the good work begins. From there, we find joy.

When my father was dying, with whom I had a difficult relationship, I went to see him what turned out to be one last time in hospital. By this point, he was unable to speak, but he knew I was there. I couldn’t work out if he was pleased I had visited, or not. And now I will never know. An hour or so after I left, my mother called me to say he had gone. I cried, there was no stopping me crying, no take a deep breath, my tears were a force of nature; unstoppable.

So, joy, for me, is digging for the truth. Waste no time wondering. Our lives mean something important - I don’t know what - but they do, I’m certain of it. Truth can be sad or funny or embarrassing, or a million other things. None of it matters… cry, laugh or be embarrassed… that’s how people grow to love each other. Because I’d rather that, than never really knowing my dad.

I suppose there’s been a certain amount of joy in writing this, because I’ve never really spoken about it before. I hope it might help others, too.

It may be seen, all too often, that people try and fail to feel Joy in the big prescribed moments in life they were trained to expect to find them in, only to arrive at these moments and inevitably ask themselves, “is that it? Is that all I’ve been waiting for?”

And how could they not?
How could something as fragile, as ephemeral, as Joy ever hope to survive against a lifetime’s worth of expectation and pressure?
In this way, Joy is killed before it ever even really has a chance to bloom, like a sapling held too tight.

Where then can this most elusive of feelings be found? Does it even exist?
Honestly, what’s all this Joy business even about anyway?! What a racket!

Well, yes.
It does exist, thankfully.
But instead of looking for it in grand gestures and hallmark moments, Joy is found in the small stuff, I think.
It’s quiet, seldom draws attention to itself, and needs to be invited in.

Joy is diving into cold fresh water.

Joy is when someone calls you for a chat for no reason at all, other than they just want to hear your voice.

Joy is the sand beneath your fingernails when you’ve spent a day at the beach with the ones who matter most but still somehow seem to be moving ever farther away from you.

Joy is the first and last time you laughed with your best friend.

Joy is, if you’ll afford me just one moment of arse-kissing flattery, your perfect album, Ghosteen, gently pouring itself through my earphones when walking home from work and catching that first sacred taste of Autumn in the air.

Joy is not a choir of angels descending from the Heavens.
It is not a host of Valkyries carrying you to Valhalla (which is just as well for me really, as Valkyries don’t come to Stockport very often, and if they ever do they’re probably lost and looking for a way to leave)

Joy is seldom cinematic.
Joy is a whisper.
An often-unexpected shot in the dark from the one who means the most to you.
“I love you”. They might say.
And you wonder, I mean you really have to wonder, what you did to deserve that, how you could have fallen, seemingly completely randomly, into being the exact right person in the exact right spot, to be privileged enough to be on the receiving end of how that made you feel.

The small moments, Nick.
Keep your eyes and ears open, collect enough of them, and one day, maybe, towards the end, you might even look at this gallery you’ve been curating and realise they aren’t actually all that small after all, are they?

They are, in fact, rather wonderfully, larger and deeper and richer than you ever dared imagine. That they’re nothing less important than the very constellation points of your time here in this strange, sad, and sometimes fucking jaw-droppingly lovely world we are, each of us, in our own way, going quietly mad within.

I realise that where I find joy isn’t consistent. Sometimes I can hear it surrounding me as I walk in the rain, sometimes it taps me on the shoulder in a quiet moment and looks me the face and tells me how lucky I am. Sometimes it catches me unaware in the woods, with the dog, sitting in a cafe and washes over me like a warm bath.

But if I try to replicate it by taking myself to the same places, even with the same people, it can elude me.

The only one place joy always comes is when I am surrounded by those I feel 100% safe with - for me my kids, a handful (one hand) of friends and my mother and sister. Here I can be myself, even if that means being sad and miserable and oddly I find great joy in that.

Although sometimes it’s just as simple as getting drunk and dancing in the kitchen.

The mere asking of this question is itself significant: it implies we all have some sort of joy we can access. So when we do our own personal and spiritual inventories, many of us may find we lack joy, or don’t seem to feel that we can find it.

But I believe that light is always there, the light of joy, even when it appears obscured or extinguished. For me, that light appears in the form of original works of art, low and high, big and small, the affirmation of which is
oceanic in the magnitude of its influence, and testament to being alive.

That light of joy is also found in people, who, in inspiring forms of solidarity, utilize their faculties of cooperation as a species in order to endure and transcend the most dehumanizing effects of our existence under capitalism, where everything means nothing and everything is shit and a holographic mirage. Wading through this hopelessness and sense of meaninglessness, of impossibility, we exit at various points, exits we carve out ourselves, to find the light of joy.

Since sending my last, I had a shower. All the best most lucid thoughts arrive whilst in the shower.

I neglected to mention love. Joy is the completeness of knowing and loving someone from the inside out; it’s the feeling when someone knows and loves you from the inside out in return; Joy is thinking about someone, and knowing someone is thinking of you; it’s being remembered and remembering; Joy is at the centre of a true embrace; Joy is the solidness and completeness of love, and all that comes with it. So yes, Joy is the affirmation of life.

I am a daughter, sister, mother, niece, aunt, wife and friend. I am a scientist, gardener, swimmer, political volunteer, amateur cellist, organiser of music gatherings, member of lively digital music station, letter writer, reader, humanist, and a very sociable introvert. All these things bring me fulfilment, satisfaction and diversion in many dimensions.

But joy? One hundred percent guaranteed and uncomplicated joy? Sit me on a pony riding out in the fresh air in the countryside - elemental, rejuvenating and eternally joyful.

Of course, my immediate response to your question was to try to list all the things where I found joy: a kiss my daughter pecks on my cheek while I am sleeping, looking at my husband immediately after we had a fight and thinking "damn, I still love you, you idiot" or being able to hug my father instead of telling him he is to old to understand. Did I mention reading, listening to music, eating chocolate; good chocolate?

[ ] Do you remember when you cried as a child and that first sigh, that first breath of fresh air you took after crying your heart out? Do you remember the subtle joy in it? When was the last time you took that sigh?

I couldn't remember. I could remember the tears, but not the joyful, hopeful sigh.

So now I have one more place to find joy. If I manage to breathe and cry as sincerely as a little child.

Simple joys, in no particular order:

Reading in bed first thing in the morning, with a pot of good coffee
Listening to the wind in the trees
Listening to the rain while cosy indoors
Walking in the rain (if it's soft rain)
Stargazing
Looking at the moon
Looking at paintings
Watching the clouds
Watching garden birds
Listening to the dawn chorus
People-watching (preferably from/in a cafe)
Making someone laugh
Exchanging a smile with a stranger
The smell of the sea (I am far away from the sea)
Sitting in a park
Reading in a park
Reading on a train
Lying in bed - I just love my duvet
Journeys
Singing (I am not a good singer, it's just a joyous thing to do)

I am sure there are more. I love life, especially the everyday things and the wonders of the world we live in. There is lots of joy in the small things.

Part of the problem with joy is that it is fluid, I think. A perfectly toasted piece of bread with jam on it can be as joyous in its own way as a kiss from a loved one or, say, a promotion at one's work.

If that is true, then it must follow that we can't quantify "joy," so looking for something we can't actually measure is a fool's errand. The issue you may have, given that you seem to have all the trappings of an outwardly "successful" life, is that you are "seeking" joy.

Joy is too elusive to be found. In my experience, my most joyful moments have been the ones that arrived without any effort on my part. For example, my five-year-old nephew telling me, "I love you, Uncle," after reading him a bedtime story or saving a duckling from certain death in Iceland near the Arctic Circle. Neither moment, which I count as among the most sacred, joyous moments of my life, was planned, searched for, or expected.

If, instead of thinking that joy can be found, you start a day with the openness to accept whatever comes your way, you might find joy everywhere, and you need to be ready to receive it when it arrives.

To paraphrase my father's favorite saying: "It is better to see joy in all things than to try and figure it out."

There’s something in it about trusting the body for when it needs to slow down or speed up, letting it take the lead.

For instance, one of my two cats Sylvie has developed a co-sitting couch habit. Sure, she can sit on the coach anytime she wants — and often does most of the day. But what she really wants is someone (specifically me) to sit right beside her. What a joy to be asked — loudly and insistently, anytime my steps even tend toward the coach in the morning or when I come home from work — to slow down and sit. She’ll leap from whatever perch she’s on, let out a cacophony of chatter and trills, and then prance around on her blanket on the couch till I sit down right next to her. And then the purrs and the head-butts and the drool (oh, the drool!). Once she’s settled a bit, usually nestled up against me, I find myself tucked into the most zen place in my house. Next to Sylvie’s insistent company is where I often journal or read. Stacked next to me on the end table I have your book (Faith, Hope and Carnage), John O’Donahue’s collection To Bless the Space Between Us, and David Whyte’s collection Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Meaning of Everyday Words (all books that have, in their own right, brought me comfort, if not joy, as much good writing does, by reminding us that we’re not alone). This is a grounded, full joy.

Other times, I find joy by pushing myself to go faster or through something I could be inclined to retreat from for short-term comfort. Here, I think of the preparations it takes to go camping. My husband Karl and I love to camp. We live in a beautiful state with everything from mountainous streams to jutting rock coulees, a state formed by past volcanic eruptions and the repeated ice dam breaks of Glacial Lake Missoula. My husband and I are often at our bickeriest during the camping lead-up. We’re checking bins twice. One of us inevitably has a different idea about departure than the other and that stresses out whomever was planning on something slower and having more time to decide on how many and what weight of socks to bring. Usually we’re working from home right up to departure, and someone will be clattering around in the dining room while the other is trying to participate fully in their last zoom meeting. Often it’s a Friday. And we’re not really going-out-on-Friday people these days. It’s exhausting and often my inclination is to call it all off (and maybe sit with Sylvie on the couch). But once we’re loaded in the car. Once our 17-ft aluminum canoe has been hoisted onto the car and strapped down. Once we’ve traveled however far we have to go through weekend traffic. Then, we step out of the car, and the sounds and grounds are softened with pine needles — and I’m so glad we hustled and pushed through. We’ve worked for this jot, and it well up more dramatically than a couch-sit, no doubt heightened by the beauty of nature all around us.

I’m drawn to both of these routes to joy because of their repeatability in my life, and I hear in your question, a craving for a kind of formula for joy. I don’t know if this is helpful or not. You’re welcome to come sit with Sylvie when you’re in Seattle next year. Might be a bit early for camping. But I think there’s a question back to you about the frequency at which you feel you want and need to see joy in your life and how you’re defining it. Perhaps there’s something in these two instances that opens up a different thinking path in your own life.

Despite what many others might think, I don't believe in the simple and momentary happiness of life. I don't believe people when they say one must live in the moment and forget about the future and the past. To be more precise, I don't believe in the linear time we have been told about. When it's present, I find myself miserable in most circumstances (whether it's a funeral or a wedding), afloat in a state of disgust and shame, lost somewhere between the two tall mountains of the past and the future.

But, there is one thing that consoles me that I have recently begun to recognize; Memories. I find comfort and joy in my memories. I often spend many hours in my room, living in those places. And these memories are not particularly anything specific. They are not the memories of a particular person or a place. They are the memories of insignificant and miserable days I have lived in my life. The memories of the forgotten places, with tasteless meals and faded faces of people I don't care about. They are like a poem that you once despised but now cherish. They used to be hurtful, but now they are gentle and comforting. You understand their simplicity cause you've lost all interest in the complexity of the surroundings. They exist like God. We can't really understand them, but they follow us wherever we go, without any specific reason. They are mute, they are not important in any societal way, but we keep them to ourselves and that feels satisfying.

That's how I find joy, by reliving the memories of the things I never wanted and will never have.

“Thank you angel” I heard that last week. Time has given it a meaning that evolves. I have a friend who asked me about joy and like a male I said; “What are you going on about mate?”

Sleep is my healer. I found an owl that talks to me at night. She doesn’t like the day light , the plain and simple. She can see more than I can. As we fly there is no ground just the current that makes us real. Daphne guides me. “Control what you can and the rest will follow”. “You get hung up waiting for parcels that have no answers”

I fell out with my father. He was seeing other women and my Mum had enough of being hurt. Joy was the anger of kicking his car and telling him what I thought. Years later he died; then my mother, a few years later. I remember being 10; a summer where we were happy. I remember being 6. I walked in on my parents arguing. Dad had a chair above his head aimed at my mum. They both stood frozen as I stood there. The ice broken by my mother saying we’re trying to get the cobweb off the ceiling. That was my Mum looking for a joke , a smile , a positive reaction. I get joy from those memories , silly things and miss matching socks. Just keep going, making the most of what you’ve got. Move on, learn to play.

I lost my brother , six months after Mum. He was a giant; making bricks out of wet clay. Worked hard and wanted to retire but cancer cut all of that short. Family brings joy and pain. He shared more than he took. Always there when I got into trouble, he was the safety net and the escape tunnel.
Chips after Saturday morning overtime with football focus. Driving down the parkway singing along with the radio. Happy days, pure and simple

Saying it out loud that’s joy. Nina Simone at a piano. You both know the words but there’s some tradition of resistance that keeps the vowels silent. That’s the English way. Outliers live at the end of the alphabet. They find joy in the difference , the edge case , the reason behind the reason. At the end of the day we all want to be held. To feel the joy of being soft, open and without defence. Waiting for acceptance.

I have a friend with an encyclopaedia in his head. Flying nun records and Japanese imports on his shelves. We would go to Dingwall’s, the Hope and Anchor trying to see the next big thing. We missed the Talking Heads but we saw R.E.M. Oh the joy of alcohol, Saturdays nights and the Victoria line. That was the freedom of a bit of money and an obsession with the New Musical Express. He lost his hearing , tried everything , the latest tech ; implants. He carries on, makes the most of every day. He’s so strong. He’s the best listener I know. Reading lips and putting the narrative together so he can weigh in with the witty comment. Friends that listen brings me joy. I hope I bring you joy by listening.

The owl says, “listen ;process; accept; find the moment where you are lost with the focus to see”. When it happens I’m nowhere and everywhere. That’s when you can hear the angel saying thank you.

I thought I was whole , self reliant but I found a partner that changed that perception. We are all part of something. Joy in that belonging brings us together and can rip us apart.
Life is too short to be angry. Life is about living ; making the most of the day as it tomorrow may never come. The owl and I fly into the blue and gold. The four mountains behind us are the temptations making harmony. All that’s left is for us to create the top line. Paint the picture , put yourself in it and be real. Thank you Angel.

I think Joy is a conglomerate of momentary, seemingly inconsequential things, just as much as any one significant thing.

To me, Joy is National Trust visits; it’s seeing the happiness and contentedness in my dogs when they have had a great day out; it’s feeling proud of my son for any small or big reason; it’s watching live music; it’s listening to homely radio or a good podcast; it’s sunshine; sometimes rain; it’s feeling the power of an amazing lyric when it really hits hard; it’s any feeling of accomplishment; it’s exertion and exhaustion in the great outdoors; it’s sharing a smile; it’s being at home and feeling at home; it’s photographs; nostalgic memories; it’s the offer of an unexpected jelly baby; it’s delicious secrets, and the keeping of them.

Joy seems wrapped up with identifying and appreciating the palpable experience of living, here and now, and to go with it.

I don't think we have to look for joy. We just have to recognize it. It comes along as frequently as any of the other emotions we experience, and in equal measure, but we tend to give more room to our noisier, darker sentiments, our sorrows and our angers. We hang them like burrs in the seams of our clothing, so we can really feel them, because the raging and the fretting make us feel as though we're actually doing something. I’d reckon that we all experience joy on the daily, if we tune our recognition to its presence. It’s often simple, and quiet. It's carried on breezes with the scent of lilac blossoms, and transferred through a loved one's fingertips as they briefly squeeze our arm. It's released when we take off our shoes at the end of the day. Our joy doesn't command attention the way rage and despair do. Unlike most everything else we feel, joy doesn’t present as an irritant, unless someone else is too ebullient in recognizing their joy, which for some reason annoys us greatly.

So yes, maybe it is a decision, as you say, to acknowledge our own joy. And if it seems hard to imagine just embracing it when joy feels like a total stranger, maybe we should adjust our approach, and greet it like a new acquaintance. We could start ever so politely, maybe by tipping our hat to it when joy comes around again. Before long we might find we’re on a first name basis, and then we could imagine inviting it to sit with us for a while…

Joy is immediate, and those who are disposed to the experience of joy feel it spontaneously in response to life's energies. Those of us who are more disposed to extrude life through the machinery of the intellect are more inclined to gratifications, which have the kind of worked-out and hard-earned quality that you sought to discover in joy.

For myself, I can only find joy in rare moments of grace when I am able to stop doing some secret, invisible thing that I otherwise always do, something that keeps me at arm's length from the world and makes a problem out of life. It feels like surrender, and then the world is flooded with light and ease.

My answer to your question Nick is friendship.

A further explanation is not necessarily needed, but to qualify this answer I'll mention two things. First, I grew up in California, but since moving continents to Sweden (after meeting and marrying a girl when working in London) I have felt both the acute emptiness of not having close childhood friends near me, but also a real joy in creating new friendships in my new adopted home. As a result of having lived in three different countries and now having friends spread all over the world I feel incredibly blessed.

The second qualification supports the first but answers the "how" part of your question. I have been a part of the worldwide Christian church in all of these settings... across multiple denominations. Sharing faith and a desire to follow Jesus is supremely unifying. I have had the experience of being welcomed with open arms thus making deep, lasting friendships much easier. In fact we often use the term family instead of friendship, and I have personally felt that to be true.

JOY:
Seeking Joy, led me to 'flow',
led me to this old Hungarian dude
named Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi
(pronouced me high, chick sent me high)
probably the best name ever.

Mihaly studied joy and happiness for a living.
He coined it flow.

I find my joy (flow) through conversations
with people I call Frothers.

Some of my favourite frothers are musicians, poets and writers.

To sit outside a cafe
with the excruciating sounds of a city
exploding all around,
but there I am with a frother,
drinking a fuck-off sized mug of coffee
And sucked into the tunnel of their words.

Listening deeply
and yet,
it's not necessarily about those moments
lost in conversation.

It's about walking away.
The afterglow.

I'm better for having met that person,
having had that yarn,
and I carry that joy with me
for the rest of the day.

Sometimes longer
if I'm lucky.

To me the practice of joy is actively seeking things in the world that are worth celebrating, and then celebrating them generously. Part of this effort is expanding my own sense of what is worth celebrating and training myself to find and recognise the magic in the world. It is being able to spot something in my present experience which in the past I may have overlooked or desired, and to simply celebrate it’s existence. Perhaps it is an effort of selflessness, I notice that joy is often present when I have forgotten myself.

My favourite part about joy is that it is contagious. If I find joy in something, it often leads me to more, and I start to see sparks of joy all the around me, and sometimes I see other people, in their own way, noticing sparks too.

Recently, I experienced joy as I watched a friend light sparkler candles on a cupcake. I got to celebrate an act of celebration!

To me, joy is a universal frequency, an opening into a space not yet explored. Tied together in a Gordian Knot of authenticity and serendipity.

You are right in saying that it needs to be sought out, ritualised. It cannot simply be acquired.

It needs to be bled and beaten out of us by life’s relentless testing. Laying open, giving flower to that singular divine pulse that lies within all of us.

Joy is crest of this wave, it is a slow unyielding build, a divine dispensation that cleanses the soul.

Beyond this, all the rhymes and all the reasons are given over to the undertow of numbness and disconnection in this world.

This is the essence of joy for me [ ]

Most of mine for me is in nature hiking. Some of it is the company of friends. And some - that light at dusk as the sun sets.
There is not as much joy in my life as I would like – but I'm coming to realise that perhaps it is unwise to pursue it. Here is what I've learned from others:

From my Buddhist teacher: Joy comes from the very moment being present. And when I am able to be present I do notice that. In the rare moments that I am able to be fully present for a moment, that brings joy in self.

From what I read and what I notice: it is not joy so much to give me life satisfaction, but meaning and purpose. These days I try to pursue meaning - sense making myself of the world around me.
So those are my two tips:
1. be present and 2. Don't pursue joy - live a meaningful life.

I'm genuinely the most entertaining person I know and I can eek out joy in the most mundane of circumstances by just secretly giggling to my inner monologue...

I actually think this is a survival technique, after years of childhood sexual abuse and then a marriage to an abusive narcissist (followed by a horrific divorce in the middle of deeply lonely ol' covid), and then multiple redundancies and months out of work, I still have so much to be grateful for and so many daily moments which just bring a wry smile to my lips.

It's both the hardest and the easiest question to answer. I find it in so many ways, but never when that's my purpose. It's when I lose myself that I serendipitously find joy.

In silent contemplation of a sunrise, a sunset or the way a particular leaf or flower raises itself to the sun. In helping another person whose treacherous path in life makes me realise my own isn't so bad.

In dance. In exhausting myself running, riding or swimming. Endorphins are nature's shortcut to joy.

In work, finding that moment of absorption where time becomes elastic and I realise only at 6pm that I forgot to eat lunch.

In conversation with a friend where we drop pretences and are open and vulnerable. In reading the Red Hand Files, which have made my own journey of loss and rebuilding so much easier to navigate.

In watching my beautiful children, who have weathered the loss of their father and so much more to emerge strong, beautiful and kind.

There is so much joy to be found, if we can only get out of our own way.

I would have suggested swimming in the ocean, especially when it is cold, as a way to bring joy into your life, but you have recently told us that you already do this. Instead I offer this - have you ever heard of “no lights no lycra”? I believe it stated in Australia & spread to other countries, but I think covid may have killed a lot of its momentum. Basically you are in a pitch black room (usually an old church or Scouts hall) with probably a whole lot of strangers. You turn up & then they turn out the lights, play loud music & you dance like a crazy person for about 45 minutes. This is typically a week night around 7pm & (being in Sydney) it is usually insanely hot & sweaty in the room (which actually adds to the experience). Sometimes I go with a friend or with my sister (both of whom also love the RHF) but it is fine to go alone too.

You should see the people’s faces when they leave - they are glowing. This is a room full of JOY!

I find joy when I see blue … sky and water!

I never take its beauty for granted ! The first time I realised that blue and me feeling joy had anything to do with one another was when I was on Magnetic Island at Radical Bay some months after my Mum had died and after worrying I wouldn’t know joy again …. There it was !!
Beautiful and calm and vivid Blue … joy !

I think first that we might need to define the difference between Joy and happiness. It makes me happy whenever the Parramatta Eels are at risk of obtaining the wooden spoon in the NRL season. However this is only fleeting - for even if they do obtain that unwanted honour, within days they'll be on Mad Monday, playing up like second hand lawnmowers and they'll be back the following season - joy is not fleeting, and cannot be derived from the misery of others.

Nor should happiness for that matter. But it is Parramatta.

So if that holds correct, what is true joy? I think it can only come down to three things. 1) Children - I don't have any (and can't) so I can't personally testify to that 2) Unwavering faith - again, I have too many questions and doubts; or 3) Service to others. I think this is the true way of achieving joy, however I think that it might only be able to be properly gauged towards the end of one's life.
I hope that I can be of better service moving forward, and maybe I'll find out in a few decades (or less).

Joy seems to be something that comes unannounced while going about normal activities and seems to be related to connection.

It may follow a burst of colour at sunrise while having an early morning ocean swim-especially if shared.

As a surgeon, it may be a good outcome when working with a team that know each other inside out or getting the intended outcome when winding them up.

It may be when singing “Hand of God “ at the Opera House or “Yeah Hupping”at the last Radio Birdman concert* but now it is more frequently associated with grandchildren.

The joy of crazy dancing to “One Step Beyond” or seeing their faces when they find buried pirate treasure is infectious but the unexpected is even better.Knowing that I have a Bad Seed mug because of the preschool book about a bad seed that becomes gooder or the spontaneous hugs are irreplaceable.

Knowing that one of these encounters is just around the corner makes a tough day more than just manageable.

[ ] You have mentioned that a live concert is the closest thing to a religious experience that we encounter and I’d agree.

There is evidence that the hearts of choir members start beating together while singing and individuals become part of a larger organism-similar to coral or bluebottles.

Also social researcher Hugh Mackay has pointed out that one reason there are so many spotless 4WD in the inner city is that the drivers are making a statement that even though they are working hard they belong in the bush.

At concerts we leave our responsibilities at home and reveal the remaining aspects of our youth

I’ve experienced a lifequake this year: divorce after a 30-year relationship, loss of our home, death of a beloved cat, career burnout, and illness. But, as you well know, suffering and grief are capable of changing things in unexpected and beautiful ways.

I share your question about joy and have been thinking about it a lot this year. Do you know about the Buddha’s teaching on the four noble truths? The hard, cold fact is that all sentient beings suffer intensely—some more than others. And many of the things we think bring us joy, usually cause us to suffer in some way. You love swimming, but what happens when you are stuck in a desert? Fuck! These things can be very unreliable. While I haven’t been able to actualize this in my own mind, I do believe that confronting our egos, being kind, and not causing harm can ultimately make us happier. This seems like a universal truth, not just a Buddhist thing.

In May, I was down in Baja and a Mexican shaman sent a message to the group I was with. He said, “Tell them the first step to being happy is deciding to be happy.” Later that month, I had a brief conversation with a Tibetan lama who, in his past life, was the senior tutor to the Dalai Lama. After I asked him a few mundane questions, he just looked deeply into my eyes and said, “The most important thing is to be happy. Just go be happy!” So these two people who are operating on different frequencies than most of us miserable sods were both saying the same thing, as if it’s as easy as switching on a light. Maybe it is that simple and we make it more complex than it needs to be because we’re so delusional.

The thing that’s coming up most strongly for me is that when we are vulnerable, we’re able to connect with people in beautiful and transformative ways, and there is great joy in that. As I’m healing and getting my mojo back, I’ve realized I need to get back to my creativeroots inphotography and storytelling tohavea morefulfillinglife. I’ve paired down my belongings to a 5’ x 10’ storage unit and plan to spend next year traveling, connecting with people, and telling theirstories through images and words for a website I’m developing. I'll explore themes of connection, interdependence, love, wellbeing, and awe through subjects like music, nature, spirituality, healers, couples, friends, and community. I'm doing this as part of my own healing process, but also to (hopefully) help others get unstuck and dare to do what makes them happy.

I find joy by noticing the glimmers. No matter how gloomy the day, they are always there:

leaf shadows dancing on a wall,
raindrops on my skin
or a puddle,
petrichor,
my dogs - a ‘mixture of gravity and waggery’, Mary Oliver’s Dog Songs,
your songs,
rays of sunlight through the trees
or simply pressing a hot flannel on my face.

Joy, as I believe, is not a feeling but an act of being. To be Joy is to then feel nothing but, and see, really see, that the grass is not just green, and the sky is not just blue. Joy is an energy exchange that is pure and without intention with other beings and the life that interacts around you.

I haven't been "Joy" for a very long time, and it wasn't until this question that I realised I forgot where to find it. Thank you.

Joy is not outside of us, but it gets covered up or hidden under spiritual emotional muck. So I don't find joy outside of myself, but I am quite often if not constantly peeling away the muck to reveal the joy that is always there.

Sometimes I am quicker than the muck, and joy shines through effortlessly. Moments like that, I look up at the sky and think, I'm so happy and alive, I can do calculus today. Everything is beautiful, and I experience such big LOVE.

When the muck is quicker than me, everything seems dim and I feel hopeless. Time slows down, intolerably so.

There was a phase this year that I thought I had lost all my joy. But now, I know it's always there. I just have to remind myself that I don't always know how to clean off the muck, that I'm human, but I will feel that joy again. Nothing is permanent.

Your musing that joy is often actively sought—a decision, action, or practice—brought me back to a line I wrote in my journal at an absurdly young teen age that has stuck with me ever since: "joy is a practice, not a windfall." How do we carry such wisdom from such early ages, far before we're even remotely capable of fully understanding its implications, let alone its applications?

I've had stretches of life far more joyous than the one I've been in the last few years. I, like you, have been struggling to find and really absorb the joys life has to offer. For a long time this was clearly circumstantial: I was adrift in a never-ending cycle of getting knocked down and then kicked a few times while there, with no relief. This type of chronic stress and repeated loss will sink anyone, and it eventually sunk me.

But now the winds have changed. Things are less bleak. I've had a chance to get to my feet without being kicked, and even to take a few unimpeded breaths. From here, I can see that the problem of not experiencing the joy I know to be available isn't from acute, immediate crises—by which must forgive myself for being too overwhelmed to look up for a long time—but from the bracing stance toward life and the world I've adopted as a result of being in this unrelenting place for far too long.

Now it's clear that it is only me keeping me from joy, only my lack of active practice. So in response to your actual question, "where or how do you find your joy?" I will just say how I have learned, at least the past, to find it, and therefore how I plan to approach picking up the practice again.

First I have found that joy isn't going to come easily, even with practice, if I'm not tending to my most basic needs first and foremost: enough sleep and water, decent food, plenty of bodily movement, time with varied people both close and strange. After that, the less basic but still critical needs of attending with devotion to my partnership, and then to my work (which, like you, is creative), and doing even somewhat novel things sometimes need attention.

Then there is *en*joyment, which for me comes most prominently from swimming (especially in lakes and rivers), reading, walking, cooking, and loving. I need enough of these enjoyable things—even just a few moments here or there–to build a foundation for joy to arise in more mundane and daily activities (often called drudgery), which, I've found, is where most real joy is eventually found.

From there, the only way joy will make itself known to me, even as I open, open, open to it, is if I move slowly and deliberately enough. If I am hurried, if I am unintentional about the passing moments—that is, if I'm not paying close enough of good, quality attention to whatever is happening, there will be no joy.

Maybe this is too practical. Too straightforward. Not very revolutionary or philosophically profound. But I don't think joy—the practice–can be so conceptual, anyway.

I see joy as like oxygen. It's all around us, but just like we don't always get enough oxygen on a mountain, we can't necessarily feel joy in the same way or to the same intensity at all times, if at all.

To me, we are all connected by some sort of divine energy - God, Tao, Brahman, Great Spirit, source energy, etc. We all feel it to some degree, I think, in one way or another. We all come from it and come back to it. I experience joy as an expression of this energy - one way that I tap into it directly. I feel that this divine energy contains all essential truths. Not all emotions are essential truths, but I think joy is.

For me, joy usually comes to me when I am in a state of both connection and freedom. When I experience something that makes me feel connected to others, this creates the groundwork for joy. Even if it's a simple joke I think my partner would appreciate (I think most jokes make us feel seen in some way), or if I'm just trying to help my party guests to feel at ease, I feel my soul resonating with another one in shared understanding, appreciation, or absurdity, and we vibe together for that moment within the divine energy. But freedom has to be present as well, for a few reasons. First, freedom allows authenticity, and authenticity is necessary for connection. Second, freedom allows me to let go and embody joy - to roll around and revel in it, which is kind of the point! To laugh loudly and pull others into it with me, increasing the connection and therefore the joy. Freedom gives me the space to receive joy and build upon it creatively and spontaneously!

So for me, joy is an gift I unexpectedly receive. It always comes back around sooner or later. And I have to admit, the relationship I have now with joy is hard won. Connection and freedom weren't always accessible to me. So I'm grateful for this opportunity to appreciate that joy comes much more easily to me these days.

[ ]

I think that it might be joy finding me, in those moments when I stop looking for clear answers. For me, feeling joy somehow correlates with not exactly understanding where it comes from - the same curiosity that we have about beauty and God and our relationships. Those times when I got to feel overwhelming joy, small parts of those pillars revealed themselves, with the part unknown expanding at the same time. I agree that it’s a choice, or a commitment of sorts to keep the ability of being able to feel it awake. I find that generally engaging in mysterious activity and stepping into unknown territory with more love than expectations, grants the space to accept joy fill your being.

Lately I’ve been thinking about ‘’joy tolerance’’:) I’m wondering whether my experiences of joy have lost some of their intensity because I experience them more often than I used to. I guess it is also a chemical business.

It’s still a different play of chemicals than with pleasure though. Chocolate or cigarettes or molly all deliver pretty efficiently, but it’s different with less mystery concerning the source and almost mechanical attempts to fulfill old expectations. People, beauty, and God are forever mysterious. I think that it’s when I get to brush against them in ways I didn’t expect to, that I open the door for joy to come into my life.

With loss everything changes, known territory becomes unknown and you understand nothing. My instinct then, is never to search for ways to let joy in though. Trying to do so feels in a sense almost against my nature. Yet I really think it’s (somewhere?) around the time of loss, when I understand nothing, that I am wide open to feel the ‘’simple joys’’. You rediscover what a chair or a tree is, adding new layers to its pre-loss meanings, and the unknown is expanding with all speed.

As a runner (bare with me), I find joy in the moments immediately after my daily run around the middle eastern suburbs of Melbourne.

It's a form of meditation for me and I love every moment of it. The physical pain I choose to push through, the mental anguish I exercise, paired with the music I love and adore running to. (Listening to Jubilee Street is a wild experience running through the streets of Nunawading.)

But mostly it's when I finish my run I find a moment of joy. I pull up at my driveway, comforted in the knowledge that I have a well-earned six-pack of beer in the fridge, and a loving and beautiful wife and daughter safe inside. The breeze cools me down as I walk up and down my street catching my breath. Neighbours invisible in their own houses, magpies darting through the droning sound of Australian bugs and insects – My body sweat-cleansed, my mind clear. I look to the sky just to see how it's going, in my moment alone.

And nothing phases me for the rest of the day.

I am surprised at how easy this is to answer. On a macro level, I find my joy in the hope and belief of a promised eternal life. It is a large cushion that underpins every aspect of my life.

But on the day to day, I find my joy in the sunrise and the sound of the birds. The people around me that I love. The creativity that exists in my mind. The incredible enjoyment I have in eating a boiled egg with a cup of tea.

This is hopelessly clique'd. But nonetheless true.

Imagine being in a beautiful garden, walking through aromatic flowers and magnificent trees and plants. You feel happy. Suddenly, a butterfly lands on your shoulder. Now you feel joy—a deep sense of connection, meaning, or elation that can momentarily overwhelm you. Joy is fleeting, transcendent, and more intense compared to the enduring, more stable emotion of happiness.

This is perhaps why joy escapes you. You cannot catch it, control it, or feel it on demand. It is always present but often hidden in the noise of the day, requiring our attention to be ready to notice it when it decides to reveal itself. Practicing gratitude daily is perhaps a way to prepare ourselves to be ready and have the best chance of noticing joy when the time comes.

Perhaps this is why joy is better understood or felt—“brought into focus,” as you said—through what we have lost. Only then do we fully realize it was always there; we just didn’t notice it.

These are my thoughts about joy while at the ICU, hoping and praying that my little girl recovers from the two open-heart surgeries she’s had, and realizing all the happiness and moments of joy she has brought me during the first three years of her life.

I find my joy in the most unexpected places. For I think we need contrast to see the light.

I’ve been thinking about a very moving article about life and death by a 31 year old dying man. I first came across it toward the end of 2020 and the beginning of 2021 and sporadically I keep coming back to reread it.

Maybe it was the timing of when I came across this article in The Guardian, but it has had such a profound and lasting effect on me. In fact, Elliot Dallen, the author of the article, has had such a transformative effect, I now realise that I’ve been trying to live in the way he felt was important. It resonated so deeply and so strongly within my soul, it’s left a permanent impression.

I have shared this article with people in the past. I don’t think I shout about it as much as I should. It needs to be known, to be read and to gain new readers. I will be as bold to say it needs to continue to be heard, read and felt for the rest of time until we as humanity no longer exist.

Sometimes you read things that stay with you and this personally, has stood the test of time.

I dare you not to be touched or moved by it in some way. I hope you find something of what I’ve found in his writing.

Failing that, I hope for the briefest moment, it makes you reflect on your life.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/sep/07/terminal-cancer-live-cancer-life-death

I’m sending you an excerpt from a book by Christian Wiman, in which he collects poems he believes embody the enormous theme of joy. You have mentioned joy in interviews if I remember correctly. It contains a hard-earned dynamic and maybe an element of grace? There’s the decision to overcome a despair but also an experience of something transcendent from … an otherworldly place…a gift?

I’m also reading My Great Abyss, a book I’ve had on my bookshelf for years but am only now compelled to read because you mention it in TRHF. Christian Wiman is a writer who gives me pangs of appreciation and envy. He is such a skillful writer! Have you read He Held Radical Light? It’s lovely. I’m eager to start his newest book, Zero At The Bone.

I read the first interpretive essay in his book Joy and thought of you because it contains frogs. Did you see the movie by Paul Thomas Anderson, Magnolia? That’s a favorite of mine. Also, in Maccaig’s poem, there’s a river. I keep seeing you as a youngster discovering life at that river in Wangaratta. My childhood home had a small river next to our yard. I did much exploring along that river.

I guess I find joy in spite of authority, in spite of hypocrisy, in spite of suffering. A kind of defiant and questioning attitude towards the world, as if I was always inviting it to show me what's underneath it all, the good and the bad.

Maybe it's not the purest form, but it is mine. It feels personal and liberating. A form of resistance, as Idles would put it.

I find joy: in hiking (especially I enjoy the smell of mountains in autumn), in turtles, in wearing my bathrobe all day, in playing cards with my nieces and nephews, in taking a bath in the sea every Wednesday before work, in drinking coffee after that bath and in decorating the Christmas tree.

I feel joy: when I get a smile that is reflected in the eyes of the person sending it, when looking out of the window in the train feeling that I'm on my way somewhere, reading a book that is so engaging I can't put it down, when feeling wind in my face, laughing at inside jokes with my friends, and in every hug I (still can) get from my grandmother.

Joy, don’t stay hidden.

I found you first, in that kiss in the neon nightclub.
Then recently, a winter stout in a Galway pub.
When joy chooses to hide, I think of these simple pleasures.
And when joy’s here, I understand it’s everything in equal measures.

It’s surprising to see that even a person like you, on your own words, a privileged one, can be interested on what others do to reach joy. So, I start to thank you for making possible to us to come across this opportunity of reflection.

In fact, simple joys tends to escape from everyone, I guess. Everyone could make it more, or bigger, but sometimes the walk of life distracts us from simple pleasures, or frugal moments with our loved ones. It is what it is.

That being said, my moments of joy come from three different places: the happiness I could bring to my loved ones (I love to see their smiles and shiny eyes, my encounters with art (composing or simply enjoying the music of others), and from the complex but rich relationship I have with God (from time to time, my heart is touched by the hand of God, and that moment makes me feel a transcendent joy and peace).

It’s difficult to put on words the meaning or the paths of Joy. However, it’s deeply touching being part of it.

Nick, try to give simple joys more room on your life. You deserve them.

I find my joy in my kids, the ocean, good music, and cooking for others.

The simple things that are there every day.

I would like to share my, our, story, of how we, mostly at unexpected moments, experience joy. Not find it, but just caught by it, as if joy found us and felt it had to fuel and warm us for a while.

This spring, my wife and I received very bad news, several metastases were found, explaining in hindsight the suffering from her simmering backbone pain. Therapy started to push back, but the situation is in the end incurable. The two teenager children that still are around in the house feel the depth but we decided to live life to what we can.

So, this summer we drove down to the coast just south of Bordeaux, for surf lessons we had booked for the teens. My wife and I would then relax at or near the beach watching them struggle with and being excited by the endless repetitive power of the ocean.

We felt lucky and connected as family, as we were together the four of us. But the joy came when almost always one of our kids made a weird remark or created a certain moment that brought us for whatever reason to laughter – and here comes the point – and this always was at the moments that my wife was walking, or just standing straight. And she laughed, but she couldn’t laugh because of her backbone pain and she doubled over and grabbed anything close, a tree, my arm, my head, to push away the pain and begged that we should not make any jokes or remarks or whatever when she was walking or standing. So we agreed to next time wait with jokes till she was seated. And how much we all tried, she never sat when joy came!

We hardly can tell what it was that we were laughing about, and it didn’t matter, we all, my wife full-hearted too, welcomed any of such moments of joy and these just kept coming, and we were seeing her pain, our pain and yet being fuelled with joy.

At the end of such days we walked back to the car to drive to the summerhouse. Behind the dunes were the remainders of a pine tree forest, largely destroyed by a forest fire some years ago. Silent now, after a long day, we passed the empty and deadly space, with just a few flamed trees that seemed to have survived. We saw emerging shrubbery, and in between, here and there, young shoots of pine trees taking root. We took that as joy too.

Joy is one foot in the known and one foot in the unknown.

Joy is harnessing Chaos and Order.

Joy is the pursuit, sacrifice and suffering toward a noble goal.

Joy is community and harmony.

Joy is playing the piano piece to your partner and Joy is forgetting that time exists.

Joy is not always logical but it is always meaingful.

I find the purest form of joy for me comes from spending time with children, whether that be my niece and nephew, my friends' children or the many children I have the pleasure of working with in my profession.

I do not have children of my own and that can be a source of sadness for me but interestingly I never feel that sadness when I am in the company of other people's children. Instead I feel joy. Joy that they exist, joy that they have all the experiences of life ahead of them (whether they be positive or negative), the fact that they are on the precipice of life is wonderful to me and seeing them experience the world and make their own discoveries and form their own opinions helps me to see the things I have grown used to and perhaps a little bored of differently.

For me there is no better sound than a child's uninhibited laugh and if you happen to be the person that brought about that laughter than that is possibly the highest privilege I know.

As an aside I wanted to thank you for putting the Red Hand Files out into the world and brightening my inbox with each issue.

To me joy has always been a natural thing. Laughter and enjoying things such as books, concerts, nice people, travel... have always been part of my life. I guess it is in my genes, so I am not sure whether joy is a decision or a premeditated action.

Some people have penchant for dramatising everything: rain, the wrong choice at a restaurant, a train running late... Instead of being glad the garden gets what it needs, feeling the joy of snuggling up under a blanket after being soaked during your commute home and enjoying that extra reading time on the train.

I was later than other people in achieving normal things: walking, cycling... I still have a shitty balance so I can't do everything I want. However my parents never moaned about it. Instead they taught me to focus on and get joy out of things I am good at. It's the best gift they gave me.

Another thing that helps me in experiencing joy is music. If I feel really bad, a good concert is the best medicin. If there's not enough music in my life, I start feeling bad. Music is my therapy. It may not be for everyone, but finding out what enables joy is so important!

Joy Is Pura Sensación.

Joy lives whithin.

Joy can, and must, be trained. Like muscles.

When i read your writting, and you read these words, we are now one, in my ears, the words in our brains produce some kind of chemical-electric-time-space-traveling magic.

I feel joy, when encountering with others and with me in that encounter. I very much need others to feel Joy. But i can train myself, and cultivate my own capacity to feel Joy.

I can, for example, imagine you reading this letter and smiling. Joy. Self-inflicted mini-joy.

I have read many of your letters, and liked many of the questions selected and the answers you gave. Many i could have never imagined. Thank you. I’ve laughed and learned and grown. Thats why it brings me joy, just thinking about a strange man i’ll never ser, smiling. My own joy, just like that, a second ago, picturing that, even though i know you didnt. At least not yet, or in that precise second.

Works with grief the same way, so be carefull.

And responsible with our own joy, and with sharing it.

Joy is pura sensación. I get it from being alive, and sensible, from others, and i trane my self to remember my own responsability to joy.

Often it's not so much about finding joy but creating it, especially in challenging times when it doesn't exist. Joy isn't a thing I try to chase. Feelings are in flux like a river. Sorrow is sometimes just one of our many experiences in this world and with each other.

For me joy arises out of having peace and matching my daily actions to my values. Freedom is essential. Freedom from petty distractions, the nonsense of social media, and dwelling on the past or speculating about the future. I try to be fully alive and aware of every moment now. I offer my full attention to the natural world, wild animals I've befriended, creative work, and people whose company I cherish. The endless wonders that unfold from these connections are subtle and cumulative. They astound me with simple joy. Perhaps contentment is the greatest joy.

Joy requires letting go and discovering life without expectations or preconceptions so that I may truly understand this world and other individuals. Or so that I may profoundly experience something such as the evolution of your music. Of course, your music has brought me deep healing and joy over the years.

I think with the Red Hand Files, you've created a remarkable adventure of joy for us and yourself.

In the velvet void of endless night,
where shadows twist with doubt and fright,
you stand, a soul upon the brink,
and in that blackened hour, you sink—
surrendered to the call of fate,
no more to question, just to wait.

You whisper prayers for mother’s pain,
as joy, a specter, slips its chain,
and through the folds of ancient cloth,
it wraps your heart, dispelling wrath.

For joy’s the tender, whispered lore,
a fate that’s woven long before—
for you, for me, for all below,
in endless depths where secrets flow.

I thought I would respond your question with a brief poem. It reflects the most recent experience of joy I’ve had. A couple of nights ago, while on a work trip, I woke up in the middle of the night on the verge of a panic attack, thinking of my mother, who is suffering right now. In that moment, after struggling, I succeeded in the attempt of acceptance of my own self; I lived that moment, I was not lived if you know what I mean. Almost immediately a contagious sense of peace enveloped me. I so deeply wished that it could also be passed on to my sick mother. So, I wanted to respond to you in this way, and I wish you all the best. You are a kind man and a true artist. English is not my native language, and I had to rely on some dictionaries to try to express myself as best as I could. I hope it is readable.

I can relate to what you say about having a full and privileged life and that simple joys can somehow escape us.

In the last few years, I have become more drawn to non-dual viewpoints and my take on the perspective is that terms like joy and love can be used interchangeably and may mean the same thing.

I like the analogy of the blue sky being love; eternally there in it's loving blueness and that clouds are our thoughts, feelings and experiences which are ephemeral and come and go. Only our awareness of the blue sky is constant. We have been conditioned to be distracted by the clouds. When we can truly strip our experience back to awareness - losing ourselves (and our learned hang ups) in creative endeavours, music, sporting flow, art, dance, being in nature, engaging conversation with a friend - simply just loving what you are doing at that time, then the joy is there without any effort.

I guess what it means to me is that joy and love are always there, we just forget it is so. When we recognise the clouds for what they are and relax and lean into the beautiful blue sky we just know we're part of something bigger than ourselves, and there is comfort and joy and love to be found there anytime we wish for it's presence. Thank you for the Red Hand files, power to you Nick.

I don’t think I’ve ever found Joy but I do think she has found me.

I've felt something akin to Joy when I saw the stars dance in my 20s. And there's nothing quite like watching an old western in the morning with a cup of coffee and my dog, and watching my dog watch the horses before he falls asleep against me. Maybe this isn't Joy but it's damn close.

My mom died suddenly when I was 31 living in a big city and I felt more and more enclosed there, locked, in need of space and air--and if my mother didn't die my partner and I wouldn't have moved away and we wouldn't have gotten married when we did, where we did, or conceived the same daughter that we did. I'm 36 now and I have a 15 month-old daughter who carries my mother's name and Joy is hanging around me much more often and we are all dancing every day and the stars are all dancing every night as I close up the porch and say thank you to my mom, thank you for life and thank you for Joy.

I think that as I'm getting "older" that I am redefining to myself what joy actually is. I used to think that joy had to be something exciting and highly stimulating. Now I'm finding that it can be a lot simpler than that.

I am a musician and my partner works a desk job from home. I find joy in waking up next to her every day. I find joy in cooking for her while she works. I find joy in working on my silly little songs on my laptop while our dog lays under my chair.

I spent a long time dealing with unkind people who consistently made me feel bad about myself. I found joy in resetting my social circles and taking inventory of who is actually supportive of me and important to me.

I have found you don't really have to look that hard.

I would also find joy in Grinderman III.

Your work has always resonated with me on a level that I've sometimes struggled to express to others. It is deeply moving in a way that stirs my deepest emotions, my deepest pain and at the same time, I find it just so fucking good that I keep listening to it.

I believe that the reason for that is the resonance I experience in listening to you expressing your world views and experiences. I expect - or maybe just want to believe - that you, like me, are an over-empath.

Despite an extraordinary life that I have led, with more ups than downs, with incredible luck and phenomenal privilege, I experience the world as a very painful place. I dwell too long on the suffering experienced by the underprivileged, the homeless, the abused women and children, those that are incarcerated, sometimes unfairly, then there are the animals that suffer at our hands and nature that we seem to wantonly destroy.

My continuous experience of this thing we call life is dark, marred by war, loss and the seemingly unfettered cruelty of so many members of our species.

My aim has been for years to strive less for "joy" and more for contentment. The seemingly most contented and often "happy" people I came across were often the poorest, the most downtrodden and those who often suffered so much. For example, the poorest people, living in Afghanistan, Libya, Lebanon, Syria, Indonesia, Vietnam and so on. Paradoxically, it was in these countries that I met the humans who seemed the least burdened by fears, hate and complaints about what they didn't have.

I stopped trying to obtain "joy" by consuming many, many years ago (we are almost the same age). Instead, I found myself happiest and joyful when I either created (I write and have published my first novel at this late stage in life) as well as when I could distract myself from the shadow that this world seems intent to cast over me.

I find music festivals, concerts and raves to be a place where my mind would focus much less on the heaviness of this life and became uplifted by music. I can escape into the rhythms and lyrics of songs. So, in answer to your question, it is at concerts like yours (this isn't an attempt to ingratiate myself) that I actually experience "joy."

I just returned from Burning Man where I experienced pure happiness for days on end. Lost out in the desert, with art and creative people, no cell phone reception, no news, no reminders of how shitty humans can be. Instead, buried in the love and generosity of other humans. The pure, intense spiritual experience of people mourning silently in The Temple, or crowds enjoying a beautiful sunrise together made me happy.

I don't really like people in my daily life. Or maybe it's humanity with its dark, destructive, almost sadistic streak that I despise. But out there, being part of a collective humanity that treated each other (in general) so beautifully, made me truly joyful.

I have to admit that the occasional acid trip, ingesting of mushrooms, or MDMA drop, doesn't hurt either.

I’m 51. I’m a burlesque cabaret performer and producer and I run my company for 21 years now.
It was the first in France.
It’s called le Cabaret des Filles de Joie, literally it means “the girls of joy” but in old French, it’s the equivalent of Ladies of the Night because as an old punk, I enjoy a little sparkle of provocation.
As a female artist, I always felt like we had to sell ourselves a bit like hookers but also I loved so much the concept of JOY.
Joy you bring in when you’re striping for an audience.
Joy as an act of resistance. It’s political.
Gilles Deleuze, the French philosopher, used to say that governments feel stronger upon sad population. Sadness makes you submissive and meek.
Joy is resistance !
Joy is enthusiasm.
Joy brings back hope and then we can do anything.

I believe that joy is our primal natural state : babies are joyful when they’re healthy, fed and have slept enough.
Joy is killed by life accidents, trauma, hunger, lack of sleep, fear of lack anything, loss, injustice, misery but originally I do believe we are joyful.
I keep my own joy even after loss and heart breaks by physical self care : yoga, run, Pilate, box, dance, deep stretch, fitness, every single morning.
That’s my self care routine.
It brings simple joy in my life. I would wave my tail if I was a dog when I’m training and especially after training with this shot of endorphins. Best drug ever !

I also do meditations and visualizations a lot.

But most of all, I find joy in the sensation of being useful to the world.
I teach burlesque seduction as an art therapy for women so they empower themselves and say it’s life changing experience : it’s so rewarding! Each time i feel blessed and grateful and joyful when I see them becoming daring and fierce and sexy.

I try my best, every day, to make a better world through small details. Joking in the line when I’m shopping, saying compliments I mean to perfect strangers, smiling at any people I walk by, playing with dogs (dogs are embodiment of Joy) when I meet them, seeing smart friends with good sense of humor…

Joy is really my compass : when I don’t feel joy, I always try to transform the situation and when it’s not possible, I just fly away,

I find joy in gardens, in woods, in flowers and bees and butterflies and birds. There’s joy everywhere around. That’s divine.

I am a spinozist stripper …

My English is so-so and I hope you will pardon my simple childish way of expression. I would sound better in French.

The weight of accumulated loss, grief and frustration that this strange passage piles on can drive some of us deeper and deeper into self imposed isolation and withdrawal. Sex and drugs and rock and roll can only get you so far in my experience.

My grandmother taught English Literature for decades in the early to mid 20th century American South where lots of things were wrong way round. She was a beacon. She kept a giant Oxford American Dictionary on her coffee table and regularly sent us leafing through it to be sure we actually knew what we were talking about. These days I still enjoy coming across a new-to-me word and searching out it's definition and etymology- thanks to Marguerite.

Recently I came across the word anhedonia for the first time and fell under a bit of a spell by the way the word feels and sounds. From Wikipedia: Anhedonia is a diverse array of deficits in hedonic function, including reduced motivation or ability to experience pleasure.

(and)

Hedonism refers to the prioritization of pleasure in one's lifestyle, actions, or thoughts.

I began to consider my own lingering depression and lack of pleasure and yes, joy. How long have I been feeling so generally wrung out and now, flat? Do I have access to any real joy?

Just now I think of my ritual of bringing my beautiful wife her tea in bed every morning. And our warm home filled with music and art and love and struggle and chaos and decades of our own winding history. And our young pup Arthur who greets us every morning with a genuine joy for life that I can barely fathom but serves as a source of both inspiration and occasional frustration. This is joy.

In my younger years I think I confused pleasure with joy. As we age we just might be lucky enough learn that they aren't necessarily the same- pleasure is temporary and self referential. I'm now learning that joy comes from letting go of the self and embracing wonder and possibility and (gasp) hope.

It's a tall order for some of us to find this new path after a lifetime of cynicism and hedonism but it seems worth the effort. I'll keep trying. Hopefully Marguerite would be proud.

I guess I could name many things that bring Joy to me as a person and they would mean nothing or something or everything to you and to the other readers, depending on the extent to which each person could relate to them if they identified a common thread with their own life experiences.

But I think, rather than mere concrete illustrations of Joy -as vivid and inspiring as they can be-, what you are getting at, by using the verb "find" and by aptly and eloquently (as ever) describing Joy as "a decision, an action, even a practised method of being", would be the unifying factor of those joyful and joyous instances...

...and there, I believe, the secret lies in Connections. Being able to Connect.

If I close my eyes and recall images of Joy, they will vary greatly but they will invariably lead back to a Connection made.

Sounds a bit vague for sure, but it is no coincidence that lack of the capacity for Joy can -probably- best be conveyed as a feeling of disconnect, of alienation (to oneself, to other people, to the world and life, in general).

I suppose caring and loving is the foundation. Isn't this how connections are forged? When you care and love, the losses -whichever form they take- will hit harder but, conversely, Joy will also sweep, transport and transcend.
And of course sometimes Joy just comes and finds you, almost catching you unawares, but sometimes, "most of the times" (as his Bobness, would say), it requires an effort.
So much of our life has become about minimizing, even ostracizing, effort but I'm afraid we fail to see that there is value and Joy in making an effort.

This reminds me of a little phrase which, coming to think of it, kind of encapsulates the spirit that may serve as a preparation for a state of Joy.
I read it a few years ago in an interview of the Greek poetess Krystalli Glyniadakis, although it can most likely be traced to other sources too.
She said her life-motto would be
"Do everything with grace and gratitude".

Basically, I should have asked the question you posed myself. Reading it feels like looking in a mirror. Well, I tried to take your question as an opportunity to collect a few of the little things that bring me joy. When I am ready to recognize them. But I'm afraid I rarely succeed...

17 things that bring me joy

A downpour, drumming on the roof.
A cloud whale floating by.
A dragonfly wedding dance.
A dreaming cat.
A friendly ghost.
A bright child's smile.
A wind in the willows.
A wild strawberry.
A snow crystal flurry.
A cherry blossom flurry.
A singing wanderer.
To bring joy to others.
A cicada madrigal.
A well-made haiku.
A feather of a jay.
The moon, always.
A frog croaking in the moonlight.

Gosh, where do I begin?

I'll start with:- feeling the warmth of the sun seep into my bones and a warm breeze in my face; seeing my wife's smile when she is happy with me; bouncing and bodysurfing in a wild sea, especially if there's a storm raging in the sky; anytime, anywhere and any weather I'm riding my motorcycle; walking in nature and seeing all the boundless varieties of different plants, formations of rocks, birds and insects and 20,000 different shades of green and the clouds in the sky; going to a great gig and sharing the moment with hundreds or thousands of fellow fans.
All of these things bring me my joy, but sometimes, all it takes is a good cup of tea!

When I’m struggling and anxious I like to find what I call ungovernable joy. Moments of beauty in the world that no one else can provide or take away.

It’s as simple as the moment the sun sets enough to create rainbows through the crystal in the kitchen.

My cats trusting me enough to sleep near me.

Finding an extra of something you thought you were out of.

They are all small joys but when you gather them together they make life seem a little brighter.

Not an exhaustive list but some thoughts.

I hear other people’s music in my head a lot of the time. It can elevate otherwise unremarkable times, creating the perfect moment without unwanted interference from anyone. This morning it’s been ‘You ain’t the problem’ by Michael Kiwanuka. I danced in the kitchen alone to it - something I find myself doing with increasing frequency as I age, having never been a dancer.

I recall (and sometimes) fantasise about my own artistic successes as an actor. I hope you feel the same: a sense of satisfaction from knowing that you are good at something, even if it’s only sometimes, for a few people.

I find great pleasure in art, more specifically the way it reminds me of the incredible capacity for creation and innovation that we have as a species.

I get a lot of thrill from being alive now I’m (probably) free of cancer. It has essentially cured me of a sporadic sense of futility, though 7 years down the line I find myself seeking purpose again.

Would it tickle you to know reading the red hand files can do it too?

As much as I'd hate to admit, because I am one sorry bastard and like to pretend I can go alone just fine, I've learned that the joy I find is within the people surrounding me.
It's in their laughter and it's also when they ask me if I've slept well.
It's in my mum's food after months of eating frozen, ready-made meals from the supermarket or my own.
It's when someone teaches me how to cook their favourite meal.
It's in the hands of a friend who decides to do my make up or dye my hair and I get a warm, tingly feeling in my chest each time their fingertips brush against me.
It exists when I find a new picture or article about someone I admire.
It's in the news about college students who were able to overthrow a corrupt government with their bare chests.
It's in the warmth of someone against my skin.
It's in a sleeping lover's face, void of a single wrinkle or line of worry, looking like something almost angelical in the dawn.
It's there when I bend down to press a kiss on their warm cheek, then nuzzle against them and choose to go back to sleep as if nothing else in my day mattered.
It's in a call from someone I haven't seen in a long time and I realise how, even though they've changed as we don't know each other that well anymore, they still remember me.
It's in the old people who stop me in the street to tell me they wore their hair like this when they were young, or that they wish they'd still be able to wear make up like I do. And it definitely exists when I encourage them to do it and the next day they show up with green eyeshadow on their eyelids.

And then I realise how my recipes are made of everyone I've ever loved favourite ingredients; how my jokes are the ones that have been told to me by my neighbour when I was 10; my likes are those that my high school history teacher introduced me to; my clothes are those I see my favourite artist wear, and try to reproduce in a cheap half-imitation; how the art i produce is that of the thousands of hands I've seen work, or the hand that has grasped mine in it and taught me how to use a pencil for the first time.

These things make me vibrate with joy.

Sometimes that makes me feel like I am nothing at all without other people, just a life-sized cutout of other humans. But it also makes me feel like I am someone. Because thousands lived before me to get me where I am and I belong amongst them.

As much as people are, many times, the source of my disappointment and I might even look at the whole of humanity with contempt, they are also the source of my most joyful, most beautiful memories.

In the last few years I've found the most consistent and reliable method of feeling joy (for me) is traveling with people I love. And I don't mean luxury vacations at the most extravagant resorts in Aspen, or adventuring the far corners of the Earth. I mean saving some of my meager funds. Planning. And getting through my daily life on the excitement, hope, and promise of a little break.

Then I'll eventually get into my old car, and drive for about 2-3 hours. To stay a day or two in an interesting place (based on attractions, scenic beauty, history, or any combination thereof).

In these places I'm not jaded. I'm not used to seeing the same scenery day in and day out. And I regain a bit of childlike wonder. I walk around and admire the buildings, the natural beauty, the locals, and the stories that go along with them.

I'm free of many responsibilities, which means I am free to just BE. And to share these moments with my family or my girlfriend. And construct some kind of memory from them. A memory of a time when I saw just a little more of that big beautiful world out there, and I was free to be a human being. Which lasts, and soothes just a bit of the pain of the monotonous every day, even after the freedom is over.

Of course, I also feel soft rolling waves of joy when I'm making music. Or going on a little excursion to a county fair, or a concert. Or sitting down at the end of the day with a book, a few cigarettes and a glass of blackberry ginger ale.

I found your dilemma very relatable. Not sure if you'll find my answer as relatable. But at after all you're a regular guy too, Nick from Brighton. And probably not some songwriting genius who helps facilitate this joy in people all over the world... right? ;)

I am a lawyer, but I make music at home now for more than 35 years. Making music gives me much more joy than doing my original job. I never had the chance to finish the songs totaly, because I always missed the really good voice from my music. I cannot sing, or at least I was never delighted with my voice.

Now there is someone who maybe will be the good voice for completing the songs.

Do you think it makes any sense to release music so late, at the age of 51?

1) It's a rainy or cloudy Saturday afternoon, the day invites you to stay in, so I jump in bed, lit a joint and proceed to read through a stack of comic books I've been meaning to sink my teeth into. Comics have always been a constant source of joy to me, marveling at the images, enjoying the stories, trying to jump into those colorful and mind-bending worlds which show you that there a thousand ways to see. They always make me feel less alone, because however difficult life becomes, there are always stories which can rouse your feelings, quench your fears and prove that creation is superior to despair.

2) Waking up on a Sunday morning with my wife and our cat and simply hugging. No alarms, no overdue work, no anxiety about the future. She knows me better than anyone, and I feel totally at ease with her, which is also the product of hard work throughout the years to understand and empathize with each other better. Sometimes it wasn't easy, but it was worth it.

3) Music. Simply listening to music. I guess you will get many replies similar to this, but there's something magical about getting lost in a song, whether it is one that you've listened to many times, or you are just discovering. The way music exists in time, and emotions are also something that unfurls in time, and so music and emotions intertwine during those magical minutes in which you believe you're inside an expanded version of life with lyrics and melody that aggrandizes, awakens or contradicts your feelings... It's the closest I've ever felt to flying.

4) Watching my plants grow. Modern life feels like being pulled in a thousand directions at once, trying to be a good person, a good partner, a good friend, a good worker. Running around. Being afraid. It is rare that we get a minute in which to simply contemplate something that exists on a different time scale. Plants are that for me. I stop, I feel happy and proud to see them grow, I thank them for making the space I live in beautiful.

Joy has been on my mind every day since you asked where or how I find my joy.

My children, my husband, my family, my friends, my home, all bring me joy, of course, deep, deep in my heart, a lasting joy most like deep flooding gratitude. It is familiar to me, this joy, felt each day, as well as special times like Christmas or when I hear Ode to Joy, remembering our wedding ceremony in the splendour of St Augustine's, exiting, married, to the sound of that magical melody.

However, I came to realise it is the unfamiliar and unexpected moments, little things, that surprise me, like the glossy green tree frog sitting on my front step when I arrived home from work last week, that bring a joy unlike the everyday joys I might in fact take for granted. My favourite animal and one rarely spotted, the sight of the large frog leaping quickly away, lost to the verdant undergrowth beneath my stairs, filled my heart with joy of such a special kind, an instant shared and gone, a total delight.

For me, fortunately, joy is all around, faceted and vital.

Another such moment of enormous unexpected joy came at Dymocks on the Mall, Brisbane, on 8th December 2022. My son, James, and I had arrived very early, fifth in line down the escalators, masks on. Post-signing, like others, I had a gift for you, a small jar of Ukrainian (formerly Russian) Caramel. Later, I was mortified to learn you were vegan. I had not done my homework. You couldn't sample my signature dish ... but instead you graciously lifted the lid and inhaled the sweet smell. What an unforgettable jolt of joy!

I find my joy in movement

On my bike, moving, not the goal, just the wind in my face, the sheer joy of the ride
Knitting, my hands moving
Reading, my eyes moving, letting me travel anywhere
Being moved by the action or achievement of a stranger or someone close to me
Being moved by music

Joy, often, is in my interaction.

A good physical thrashing. Red hot sex (birthdays, Christmas and when the stars align). Scrapping in the Jiujitsu gym and shaking hands afterwards. Punishment by the rolling beauty and frightful weather of the lake district.

Primal, humbling and electrifying.

My connections with the world. The nod at the elderly on my morning walk to show them 'I'm one of the good ones'. All the traffic lights turning green on my dismal commute (enjoyed all the more if the car starts first time). A steaming hot pie warming my hands after a day of graft.
Having no signal on my phone.
The grind.
Scratchy towels.

“Things won are done, joy’s soul lies in the doing.”
- William Shakespeare

As I am pondering this question I am in a good mood, sitting at my kitchen table in my french house, with my pets around, after just having finished a nice (not fabulous, but good enough) lunch. I have just spend a great weekend with my lover, lots of music, sex, wine, cocktails and flea markets. Your question made me realise the vast amount of possibilities of finding joy.
The difficulty is not in finding answers to that question, but whén to find the answers. When we are in a state of positivity we can be endlessly creative in finding solutions. The hard thing is to come up with these answers when we most need them, when we are in a darker and more negative state.
If we take a moment to acces our inner source of answers when it is accessible (when in a good mood, joyful, inspired, or physically thrilled) we can profit from our own wisdom later.
I propose you create a physical collection of the answers you find, your own first aid kit/toolbox for joy.
Be that a diary with written answers, a box with visual clues, or any other form that invites you to
interact with when you feel less thrilled. We don’t have interior access to this positive regard when we are in a state of bleh. We need to seek it outside of ourselves, so we can access that which we have registered earlier. That way we remember that which we cannot remember spontaneously.
You only have to remember to go to your physical external inner source.

To inspire you a little I’ll share the first three things that came to mind for me, but I’m sure you’ll find you own unique answers to fill your toolbox with.

First thing I thought of is Foxy: I have a little dog since 3 weeks, an 8 year old border terrier. She has just lost her former owner, and at times I can see that she’s a little sad, but mostly she is in a good mood. When she comes running toward me with her tail wagging, ears flapping, ball in her mouth, making funny sounds, I am happy. She gives me joy with her enthusiasm and lust for life.
It is experiencing joy via others, second hand joy. If I can do something to really put a smile on someone’s face (lover, stranger, animal, no matter who), it will make me feel good. Usually something unexpected works wonders (a surprise outing, dinner, dress-up, game, massage, visit).

Secondly I thought of how I often realise how short this life is and how unique it is that I am who I am, with everything that comes with it (the ugliness, stupidity, addictions, beauty, creativity, kindness etc etc). It makes me appreciate this moment more, because it is fleeting and it won’t come back. Something is more attractive when it is not available, and who you are now, won’t be available anymore tomorrow. And sometimes that might be altogether better.

And, thirdly, as I am lucky enough to be with someone I love deeply, I can feel an instant healing and moment of joy when my lover holds me as tight as he can and I close my eyes. My system relaxes and a current of love traverses my body. Even as I write this and think about it. We can imagine being held by who we want, as we want, for as long as we want. And I assure you, it will give you a little joy.
(I just tried Dolly Parton, and she made me laugh).

Thanks for your question Nick!

I resonate with much of the context to your question: I too have a full, privileged and unendangered life, and I believe, as you put it so well, that joy is a practiced method of being. I also can't profess to being in a constant state of joy. The world (and sometimes the self) seems to want to rob us of that treasure, although I do believe it is possible to fight that ground back and, with time and practice, be 'always rejoicing'.

So, here is how I practice being in a state of joy (I will begin in the abstract before making it more personal):

I believe that being truly joyful in all our present circumstances requires a play of the tenses. A reordering of our timeline if you like. It is therefore more than simply being in the moment, or merely being present. It requires us to grab hold of some future hope, and bring that future hope into our present reality, no matter the circumstances.

The most poignant examples of this tend to be evidenced in extreme cases of suffering. Here, I appreciate I am preaching to the converted. The apostle Paul is arguably the best documented example of this unlikey paradox of (in his words) 'being sorrowful but always rejoicing'. Even while he is bound in chains in prison, awaiting torture or death, he sings out with joy in his present suffering as he takes hold of God's future promise to restore all of creation (Rev. 21: 1-4) and bring an end to death, pain and suffering.

Again, to return to our tenses, this future promise of restoration is built, for Paul, on a past reality: Paul's personal experience of the risen Christ. Here we no longer witness a fleeting hope, but one with a solid foundation. We could say that Paul's answer to finding joy in the present is to dwell on a future hope that is made certain by past actions.

I feel it's important to say that this re-ordering of our tenses is not just helpful to enabling joy when we are in a state of darkest suffering or depression, but moreover, in all our present moments—even when life is at its apparent sweetest. We might think it's easy to be joyful when work is going well, health is good, and we're out walking in the bluebells on a sunny day in May. But those wonderful moments can point us to something even greater to enjoy, as Paul puts it: we see now only as if 'seeing in a mirror dimly'. There are greater days to come.

To move then from the abstract to the personal.

It seems that one of the harsh and sad truths of our beautiful broken reality is that the true source of joy is often very difficult to find without some sort of pain. Pain causes us to desire to abandon or separate ourselves from the world. And yet we must remain. To be in the world but not of it. For me personally, a decade of chronic back pain and two spinal operations were, unexpectedly, the catalyst to finding this deeper sense of joy and peace in the world. To cry out in desperation and find no solace in the many trite comfort blankets our society offers, but instead to connect in union with the source of eternal love. To sense awe. To feel loved deeply in return. To know with deep assurance that He has all things, past, present and future, in hand.

This, for me, is the way to present joy: union with the eternal God. It is typically achieved through prayer, reading of scripture, or fellowship with others. But those are merely the practices to achieving union. I believe it is the union itself which shapes my general sense of being—my thoughts and actions—the ability to find joy in all things. For me personally, as an artist and designer, that union manifests itself in a desire to reflect something of His infinite perfect creation in my work. To attempt, with whatever degree of fallibility, to bring order out of chaos, and create work that resonates with beauty and joy; and, in so doing, to find purpose in society by sharing those efforts.