Finding joy in one another.

The World Cup has brought predictable value to the United States, including summer tourism of roughly 10 million people. Hotels, restaurants, and nightlife are experiencing notable booms, with many cities opening declared “fan zones” for the teams playing in the region. Some have even extended hours for hospitality establishments or relaxed rules on open containers and outdoor dining.

Surely, the World Cup drives significant economic impact for its host nation (or in this case, nations). As such, there is intense competition to get on the once-per-four-year calendar for the event (once every two including the Women’s competition).

And still, it may be true that any economic impact of this World Cup is secondary to another, perhaps surprising, outcome: joy.

Watching people from all cultures travel to the United States, exploring aspects of our beautiful country, and finding that its cities, businesses, and especially people are better than what they imagined. No where is this truer than in my home of Boston, where the “Tartan Army” of Scotland has not only descended on the city, but fully adopted it, embracing our people and reportedly drinking Samuel Adams out of all its inventory. As one of my friends texted me, “the city is absolutely electric right now. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The immediate bond between Scottish football fans and Bostonians has been so stark, that Boston mayor Michelle Wu sat at a desk this week surrounded by members of the Tartan Army, and signed a memorandum of intent to declare Glasgow the official sister city of Boston.

If you look, you’ll find dozens of uplifting stories flowing out of the early days of this competition. Certainly, it might be true that all World Cups leave this kind of energy in their wake, and it is simply our turn to experience it up close. Either way, it is a reminder that we are best when we embrace one another, not despite our differences but because of them.

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Where has all the joy gone?

If we look back 10, 15, or 20 years, there is no single moment that answers the question, rather, it has been death by a thousand paper cuts (some more aptly paper gashes). A devolving political climate, economic upheaval, a global pandemic, multiple wars, and an increasing set of platforms and devices designed to turn our attention toward our phones and away from one another.

This is especially true in this year’s World Cup host nation, where our continued economic resilience has been untethered entirely from feelings of happiness and wellness overall. The New York Times recently captured this sentiment in an article titled, “A Wealthy and Unhappy Nation.”

However we got here, there is a reason we are collectively so enamored with the story of the bond between the Scottish and Bostonians. It is the same reason we shared a rare moment of togetherness when the Artemis II crew passed by the moon for the first time in 54 years. For all of the divisiveness and competitiveness and individualism of our modern world, it turns out we still root for and with one another.

A few months ago, I was speaking with Rebecca Shostak, founder of the platform Flodesk. She was showing me some of the updates they were making to the product, and said something to the effect of, “we’re making all of these changes to spark joy in our customers.” It seemed to be a bit of a mantra for her… that we needed more joy. In the tools and products we use, yes, but also in our daily lives.

As I’ve shared many times, I am not by nature a positive and joyful person. That may surprise people who listen to me drone on each day about how excited I am about this event or that project. But it’s true. If I’m honest, if folks like Rebecca are motivated by sparking joy, my natural mantra would be more likely, “prepare for the worst and then worry about it until it happens, then if it doesn’t be mad at yourself that you worried about it needlessly.”

This is especially true when I am alone with my own thoughts. Maybe some of you produce joy like nuclear reactors, finding some hidden internal power that keeps you excited to step through life regardless of the circumstances. If that is you, I applaud you. For the rest of us, joy comes from others. It’s a kind of chemistry. A symbiosis. Cheering for others feels good because it’s easier than cheering for ourselves. And we all need champions in our corner.

Joy, as I’m continuing to learn, is a practice. And in the same way you would train your body incrementally to run a marathon, you should train your mind to practice joy.

Yale’s most popular course is not economics, or philosophy, or political science. It is simply, “Happiness.” They even offer it for free on Coursera.

While the above is a good place to start, how else can you begin to build a practice of joy? Perhaps you’ve heard of the “50-40-10 rule.” When applied to joy, it argues that 50% of your joy is genetic, the natural ability to see things through a prism of optimism or gratitude. The 10% is due to life’s circumstances. As we all know, there are times in life when things are going our way, and many times where, well, they’re not.

The remaining 40% is the real differentiator. This part of the formula is due to our behaviors and activities. And as we’ve discussed, the best activity to spark joy is to turn to others and lean into them. To lift them up. As the Dalai Lama said, “Remember that the best relationship is one in which your love for each other exceeds your need for each other.”

This is especially true in moments when we find it hardest to lift ourselves up.

The World Cup is proving something we’ve always inherently known: We are more alike than we are different. And in an era now where so much is automated and driven by overwhelmingly positive technology, the basics still matter.

While everyone is a futurist, choose to be a historian. Throughout all of human history, we have always been our best when we look toward one another, not away.

We need more joy. This article, like all I write, is primarily a reminder to myself. To lean in, and to look for the good.

Photo by Madison Oren on Unsplash.