Poem To Joy

Do we know joy?

Can we know joy?

Or is joy meant to remain
a little mysterious—
something that finds us
when we aren't looking?

Can joy be chosen
without being forced?

Can it be cultivated
without being manufactured?

Have we ever been taught
to learn our joys?

To notice them.
To name them.
To choose them.
To trust them.

Or have we been taught
to question joy?

To wonder how long it will last.
To wait for the other shoe to drop.
To believe we need a reason
before we allow ourselves
to feel good.

Maybe joy isn't always loud.

Maybe it doesn't always arrive
as laughter, celebration,
movement or excitement.

Maybe joy is subtle.

A breath.
A softening.
A moment of ease.
A feeling of being supported.
The quiet realization
that, right now,
nothing is missing.

Maybe joy has always been here
in ways we simply
haven't noticed.

Maybe we know it through contrast.

And maybe we know it
through ease.

Maybe some days
we choose joy.

And some days
joy chooses us.

We are only days into
40 Days of Joy,
and already there are
more questions than answers.

Perhaps that's part of the practice.

Not defining joy.

Not demanding it.

Not pretending it.

But becoming present enough
to recognize it.

Becoming curious enough
to explore it.

Becoming quiet enough
to feel it.

These questions deserve time.

Joy deserves our presence.
Joy deserves our awareness.

And perhaps one of the most important
things we are learning is this:

We are worthy of giving ourselves
the time and space
to discover what joy means
for us.