Where is the Joy?

Where is the Joy?

Where is the joy? my acupuncturist asked me. There isn’t much joy, I said. He stood by my side looking out the window, his hand on my arm, thinking about my recalcitrant blood pressure. There’s more to health than just handling stress or getting past the sorrow, he said. Think about how to get some color and music out of life.

This must be why it’s called holistic medicine. It isn’t just needles and herbs, it’s life lessons as well.

So, I’ve been practicing joy. Or, rather, I’ve been trying to notice the joy when it occurs and not let the precious moments slide past unnoticed and unappreciated.

Moments like when the synagogue choir of very amateur singers that I play piano for finally gets all the notes right in the new song and their harmony clicks in and you can hear the beauty.

Like when Sid, the white cat who has been so sick and cost me so much money stays in my lap after I have poked the prednisone down his throat and pushes his head under my upper arm and quietly purrs.

Like when Jonathan shows up unexpectedly and his face lights up when he comes through the door.

When Brad, the 80-something year old neighbor comes to the door to invite me to pick lettuce in his garden.

When I remember going to the beach as a child and Daddy would let me ride on his broad back while he dog-paddled in the waves.

The taste of Mama’s roast beef sandwiches she’d make for the car trips to Orlando to visit Grandmother and Granddaddy.

The ferry ride from Galveston Island to High Island, with porpoises riding the bow wake and white pelicans cruising overhead.

The smell of mullet frying in the kitchen in Fort Pierce.

The view of dogwoods from my bedroom window in Pfafftown.

The whole entire trip to the Netherlands in 1974.

The moment Jonathan was born.



I was wrong. There’s a lot of joy. I just temporarily forgot it.