Thoughts On Joy and the Fragility of Control

Beauty like control is fleeting.

The Covid pandemic turned many long-brewing ideas into burning desires for me. The itch to get things done heightened as the days dragged on and the national death numbers climbed. While unable to visit family and friends during lockdown, I pondered the tenuous connectedness of society, and now with the war in Ukraine, I’m again reminded, even more strongly, of this fact. Life is fragile, and the constructs we build protectively around it are only as sturdy as we make them. We can tear them down at any moment. This is a sobering thought. Most of us have no control over certain happenings around the world or even in our own cities and towns, and when I contemplate this, my own life feels a bit off balance. I help where I can and hope my small contributions will make a difference in the lives of those less fortunate. In reality, my sphere of influence is limited, as it is for most of us. Sometimes, though, these size-of-a-ladybug insights create waves difference.

When I was in my late teens I was diagnosed with anxiety. Getting up in the morning felt monumental, and going to the store required the effort of climbing Mt. Everest. As I worked through this somewhat fuzzy disease, I realized, for me, it was all about control. Not having it, exactly, but understanding where the line was between what I could control and what I couldn’t. It also became apparent that the desires burning away in my heart had meaning, even if they felt more like dreams or like the ephemeral Northern Lights.

During my recovery, I remember making lists of things to accomplish: 1) go to the store today and use your tools to understand your anxiety as it arises 2) do something that makes you happy even if you don’t feel happy right away 3) walk outside, and even if the world looks and feels gray, try to see the colors and feel the sun on your skin. These small accomplishments, when I was finally able to achieve them, made me realize how much control I actually had. And the braver I got, the happier my world became.

Today’s world is daunting to navigate. We are in the midst of so much unrest, unhappiness and anger. We might even feel guilty for having a good life or for experiencing a miraculous and joyful moment. But if the last two years have taught me anything it’s that these moments are to be savored. I once heard a therapist give an extremely glib answer to a patient’s pointed question. I was in group therapy at the time, and the patient asked, “Well, what’s life about?” The therapist said, “Life is to be enjoyed.” At the time this seemingly off-hand answer sounded simplistic and unfeeling. How can this patient possibly enjoy life with all of his neuroses? To be fair to the therapist, this particular exchange was in the context of a much longer and more complex treatment, but at the time it angered me. Anxiety robs the sufferer of the one emotion that can save them: joy. It’s the first feeling to disappear. Untangling the reasons for my own anxiety in concert with small gestures towards joy helped me grow strong, helped me recover.

Over time I’ve come to see the wisdom in this answer. Looking more closely, the shades of complexity come to light: How often do I truly enjoy life? What is true enjoyment? What’s the difference between enjoying work and enjoying play? Enjoyment can be deep or shallow, fleeting or lasting. And the answers will be different for everyone. For a writer or artist it might be finishing a chapter of your novel or researching something you’d like to paint in watercolor. It might not necessarily be the party you received an invitation to, or next week, it could be exactly what you need. For a long time anxiety kept me from enjoying the work needed to free the art inside me. I started to understand that dismissing inspiration as silly or too-far-fetched-to-be-realized caused me pain. Actual pain.

One of my cousins, Nora, was an artist who never thought she was good enough to pursue an artistic career. She died of cancer last year, and never realized her dream. As I stared at one of her beautiful drawings I was overcome with the realization of her raw talent, and how, if I’d only known of her interior struggles, we could have helped each other through the difficulties of believing in our own artistic control.

There are too many outside forces ready and willing to knock our control out of our hands. Each and every moment presents us with an opportunity and a choice. For me, the difference after the lockdown years has been choosing to honor my inspiration, letting myself enjoy the work even when I fail, and exercising control when the opportunity presents itself.

Until next time, allow yourself to take the reins!

Jan

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