Don't Postpone Joy

Don’t Postpone Joy

It’s instinctively natural when you’re a kid for you to lay on your back, look up at the sky— grayish animals, ashen castles, and ephemeral people drift by urged by an imploring, inconsistent breeze.  When you get older you tend to only look up at the sky to see what the weather is like—do I need an umbrella? There’s even less of a need to look up towards the Southern California sky when every day is sunny and warm. 

When you’re a kid walking home you might kick a can for blocks, and if you’re with your friend it can turn out to be a competitive game.  As an adult if you’re seen kicking a can down the street you’re probably imagining someone’s head as being the can.  Most adults have to schedule joy, usually it’s birthdays, anniversaries, or vacations.

I’ve always found the phrase wake up and smell the roses ridiculous, but that’s probably because I had horrible hay fever growing up. My eyes had to be pried open with hot compresses in the summer; the gooeyness was so overwhelming.  Sometimes I’d have a nightmare, go to open my eyes but I’d be stuck there with whoever was chasing me. But smelling roses first thing in the morning is so languidly la-de-da.  You’d have to be a kid to wake up with that attitude; a kid, or in Barbara Streisand’s bedroom from On a Clear Day. The room was filled with flowers, the sheets, the comforter, the wall paper--Yuck. Wake-up and smell the coffee—now that makes sense. Get up, get going, and where’s my cigarettes?

Regrettably as adults, especially in the West, we find most of our joy from things—big square things; primarily TV’s, cell phones, cars, and houses.  I think we should look for joy in more round things—the sun, the face of someone you love, their eyes. 
     But more importantly it’s the things you don’t readily see that should bring you joy; the circle that love traverses to get back to you. You give it out and it travels around the country, around the world, through lifetimes because it had to come back to you where God originally planted it.  My friend Bobbi prattled on forever about this book You Can Heal Your Life, and 10 years later someone gave it to me as a present.  And, both she and the book have been an eternal stream of joy and inspiration ever since.  Joy isn’t postponed; you just need to be more aware—it’s usually right in front of you.