Chain of Joy

I’m sitting here on the window seat looking out at a light blue sky with thin white clouds. I can hear the buzz of the weed eater in the backyard and hum of the washing machine. 

Just another day in my neck of the ‘woods’. 

How do I feel right now? 

I’m Ok. And maybe a little worried. 

Are my kids and grandkids ok?

Is my husband out with the weed eater ok?

Why is the dog scratching his eye?

What is that greedy guy in the big White House going to do next?

Taking a breath in and out. I sigh.

I’m doing what I can: protesting, boycotting and supporting my friends and neighbors. 

But it’s hard to let go of the baseline worry that hums away underneath everything right now. Hard to focus on joy when there are people suffering because of the greedy criminals in our capitol.

But we have to find joy. 

We have to look for beauty. 

We have to bring what we love into the world, right now. 

Maybe, especially right now.  

Because joy and beauty and love is how we stay strong. 

Sharing it with each other is the chain that keeps us together. 

Ok, I’m still worried. 

But, maybe, we can be worried together and let it ignite change.

And maybe, together we can find and share some beauty.

And some joy.   

What are you doing that brings joy and love and beauty into your life right now?

Let’s start our own chain of joy. 

 

 

Inching my way towards joy

 

Joy feels like a big word to me. I’m not sure, with everything that’s going on, what it means for me right now. So, I looked it up to see if a definition would help.

Joy defined by Merriam Webster:  to experience great pleasure or delight. The emotion evoked by well-being, success or good fortune. Or by the prospect of possessing what one desires. 

Hmm. Well, I can see some people in Washington might be feeling this right now. Taking our tax dollars to make themselves richer. Cutting critical programs that help people in need to cut their taxes and add to their greed. 

It’s not joy to me. It’s despicable. 

Help. 

After having major surgery, I spent months recovering. Doing little things became big things to do. I couldn’t throw clay on the wheel anymore. But I had to find something creative to do. Something to lift me out of the pain. Something to heal my spirit. 

I used to paint before I started working in clay. So, I went back to it. Paper and brushes and color was easier on my body and soothed my fears. I’d forgotten how much fun it was to spread water and paint on paper. It was just the therapy I needed. 

Discovery. 

I liked throwing on the wheel. And I spent many years focusing on function and technique to create pieces that would sell. It felt good to develop new skills. Making a good mug or teacup or bowl was a big accomplishment for me. Especially since I’d failed at it in high school. 

But I forgot something along the way. 

What I discovered using pens and brushes and paint and paper, again, was play. I’d forgotten that quality is essential to creating. It’s not just about making everything perfect, it’s about the making itself. 

Is this joy?

Still I have a problem with the word: joy. It brings back too many memories of church ceremonies, which were not joyful to me. And if I free it from those confines, it still feels too big, too much, too hard. 

But what if I just let myself go back to that little girl in the woods playing with sticks and mud? She didn’t know what the word joy meant, she just had fun. What would happen if I let her lead me back to joy?  

Inch by inch

A little watercolor one day

A little clay another day

Some color brushed on clay

It’s ok, it’s just play. 

But maybe, it’s new way to joy. 

2024 Word of the Year: Move

 

Every year, I chose a new word to help guide and inspire me. Last year’s word was Enjoy and while I’d like to say I had an ‘enjoyable’ year, I did not. It was a very hard year. Layoffs. Bureaucratic nightmares for 6 months trying to get healthcare and then, finding myself in the hospital. I’m good now, but I’m glad to see it over. 

It’s time to stop looking back in fear and anxiety and start looking ahead. Yes, I have to be careful as I recover, I tend to do too much, too fast. But I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s time to do more than reading novels and drinking tea. 

Move with care. 

I used to walk around my neighborhood lake almost everyday. I love the walk not just for exercise but for inspiration. Egrets, herons, beavers, otters, ducks, geese, deer and even coyotes live around the lake. The leaves changing, water reflections and sunsets give me food for my mind and soul. 

Obviously, after my hospital stay, I couldn’t walk everyday. I started out carefully walking around the neighborhood. But slowly, I’ve worked my way back to my ‘woods’. Today, I made it 1/2 way around the lake before the rain and snow started and it felt so good. 

Move with joy. 

I am a ‘maker’. To sit and read is fine for awhile, but I crave making things with my hands. It’s not just therapy, it’s joy. So it’s been hard to have to rest and see my studio work sit on the shelves. There’s so much I need to do: underglaze painting, bisque firing, glazing and final firing. 

To keep my spirits up, I’ve been crocheting. I know many might see it as an old fashioned ‘grandma’ thing but I’ve been doing some kind of work in fabric, thread, beads, and yarn all my life. I’ve embroidered, cross stitched, quilted, beaded and crocheted. I suck at sewing garments but I’ve made many pillows and throws in fabric and yarn. It’s my form of therapy and it works for me. 

Move with love. 

I was brought up to work and work hard. Move, move, move. Keep busy. Be productive. But I’ve begun to realize that pressure causes a lot of stress. My childhood coping skills of being a moving target served me then, but now, I need to make my own moves. I need to learn to move with love: for my mind, my body and my heart. 

What does that mean exactly? I’m not quite sure. But I do know it’s time to listen closer to my heart than my mind. Instead of jumping up every five minutes or rushing to and from the store or pushing myself to do more and make more, I need to breathe in. See the sun stream in. Feel the softness of the clay or yarn. Savor the walk while trying not to count my steps. 

Move. 

Move with care for myself, my body and my soul. 

Move with joy for making, baking and crocheting. 

Move with love for my family and myself. 

What moves you this year?

Making My Own Joy

 

I read an email last week from author, Martha Beck about how to find joy that lasts. I thought, ok, I’m game. How do I do that?

There are many things in my life that bring me joy. Walking along the beach. Gazing at beautiful sunsets and cerulean skies. Movies, concerts, plays and parades. These are all wonderful, good, exciting events. Yes. Do they happen everyday? No. And that’s ok. 

Martha’s point: “Don’t get me wrong. Excitement is a great and necessary thing; without it, life wouldn’t be complete. But happiness-real happiness-is something entirely different, at once calmer and more rewarding. And cultivating it is one of the most important steps we can take toward creating fulfilling lives.”

What can we do to get there? Martha’s two word answer: “make something”. 

I am a ‘life-long’ maker. But not a ‘life-long’ seller. 

Since childhood, I’ve loved making things. Doll cloths. Mud towns. Drawings with a matchstick dipped in ink. Watercolor, acrylic, oil and pastel paintings. Crochet art and garments. Now I make teacups, bowls, sculptures, masks and more in clay. 

But in the last few weeks, I stopped making and started looking at all the things I’ve made. Not everything I make sells. My marketing brain kicked in and started evaluating my ‘products’ sorting them into sold and not. Obviously, my inner marketer saw that I should make more of this and less of that. 

It didn’t take me long to figure out, product production is not my way to happiness. 

The key to making my own joy. 

When I’m creating, I’m calm. I’m totally in the moment. With clay in my hands, I move with what intuitively feels right. Making my leaves feels like a soothing dance between hand and clay. 

Even if I’m trying out new ideas and struggling a little bit, I’m still making my own joy. 

According to Martha Beck, “To get a dopamine "hit," make something that pushes you to the furthest edge of your ability, where you're not only focused but learning and perfecting skills. Creative work causes us to secrete dopamine, a hormone that can make us feel absorbed and fulfilled without feeling erratic. Research indicates that we're most creative when we're happy and relaxed, and conversely, that we can steer our brains into this state by undertaking a creative task.”

So this week, I took her advice. 

I made some new clay figures.  

I made more clay leaf plates and platters. 

But what I really made was joy. 

Picture Healing and Joy

So much anger and pain. Outrage and blame. Shaming and shunning. Sadness surrounds. 

I’m just me. What can I do? Sit in silence. Let the tears roll. Do the best I can to be honest and helpful and understanding and aware. And try to not let the fear overwhelm me, sending me down onto the floor of the closet in savasana or ‘corpse pose’. 

What heals you? 

Kneading bread? A walk, jog or run around the park? Baking brownies? Planting, weeding or pruning? Picking up a paintbrush? Making a collage? Crochet? Sewing? Knitting? Reading a good book? Watching a show? Listening to music? Dancing? Yoga? Watching the sunrise or set? Playing with your baby or grandchild? 

Do it. Do it now. 

Doing what heals you is proven to physically bring good health and that healing extends beyond you into the world around you. We all need it so much right now. 

Joyful posts. 

A friend started a Facebook post series of photos of things that bring her joy. Another posts jokes and funny cartoons. It lifts me up out of my darkness. 

So here I am posting pictures that help me to see small bits of joy. 

This week, my goal is embracing healing and joy alongside sadness.  

In peaceful grace, breathing in and out, one by one, let’s energize around healing and joy and life for all of us. 

Picking up the Pieces of Joy.

As I made this small treasure jar, I imagined it sitting sweetly waiting to hold little bits of joy. But as you can see, this jar is broken. And, worse yet, I broke it. Unloading the kiln load, I picked it up off the tray, the lid slipped out of my hand and crashed to the hard floor. 

Picking up the pieces of joy.

As I searched the floor for the pieces, hoping I'd find one big chunk, all I found were clay crumbs. Nothing big enough to fill the gap in the lid appeared, yet I couldn't throw the jar away. So I put the jar with it's broken lid on the shelf above my work area thinking that I'd find a way to put it all back together.

What if? I came up with ideas to save it. What if I never glazed it but just kept it at bisque stage, made a piece to fit, glued it in and painted it to match? What if I only glazed the inside of the jar, then, after the final firing, I could make a faux piece out of epoxy and paint it to match. 

I heard myself say, "Let the joy jar go."

But there it sat on the shelf. Still. I kept working on new pieces, more and more treasure jars appeared on my shelves, but noting like the little joy jar. I kept on working figuring that somehow it wouldn't matter so much anymore.  I'd have other jars that were better and taller. Unbroken.  Perfect.

Or, I could just make another joy jar. Somehow, it just didn't happen. I didn't make another one. When it came time to glaze my other pieces and do a final firing, I did glaze the inside of the joy jar. It did go into the kiln broken lid and all. 

It came out perfectly imperfect. 

And every time I see it, I smile. And my heart glows just a little bit, knowing that joy doesn't need to be perfect to be joyful.