Happy third week of July! This is part 3 of our Joyful, Anyway book discussion where I ramble about finding joy in everyday circumstances. I’ve been observing my joy and the perceived joy of others. The more I dig into real joy, the less I want to chase dopamine by shopping or jumping from activity to activity. Joy is much more peaceful than happiness.
My son is back home after being out west with my dad. Phew! My father is the only person who’d get on an airplane 10 days after more cancer surgery. He wanted to go out west for his cousin’s 80th birthday on Vancouver Island and visit an old friend in Edmonton and my son decided to tag along. My not-yet-21 year-old son could not legally drive the rental car and my dad was weak from surgery so any notion of this being a road trip sent my anxiety into the stratosphere. But they are both over 18 and outside of my locus of control. They are back, alive and well, and saw the mountains and bears and family. My son even brought back souvenirs for his sister and me without any prompting. What joy!
I continue to amble about as a flâneuse, flouting the gods of productivity to take long walks and read for pleasure and see The Odyssey with my son on a Friday afternoon. This is such a privilege. Chanel and lay-flat seats are nice but doing absolutely nothing for a while is priceless. It’s my own version of Walden Pond, minus the bugs and the manual labour.
The Odyssey is an excellent movie. The last half hour is particularly good and I had shivers when a character says “songs will be all they have to remember those of us who could write.” Given Rose Horowitch’s article for The Atlantic on the end of reading, the line feels both historical and prescient. The movie sent me down a rabbit hole (joy!) of researching why literacy disappeared after the Bronze Age collapsed. Apparently, only the elites and their scribes were literate and when climate-change-induced famine and trade route wars (!) destabilized palace life, reading and writing disappeared for four centuries. It is our duty to read more books to ward off the dark ages.
Apparently we missed out on some of the movie since only certain IMAX 70mm theatres allow you to see it as it was intended to be seen, and, according to some, this is evidence of the widening wealth gap. Some people thought the movie was too woke and others thought it was not woke enough. (I can’t judge: I must have watched Sixteen Candles eight million times before recognizing it had some issues.) Some people were mad that Tom Holland said ‘dad”. (There are monsters and giants and everyone has straight teeth and American accents but, sure, let’s fact check the dad thing.) There were accusations of cultural appropriation even though the original Odyssey poem was likely a compilation of spoken myths from a variety of cultures cobbled together by a scribe or scribes. As they say in Fight Club, “Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy” which is not to say I think AI should scrape everyone’s work but I do think it provides some grace. I think you can get upset about everything, as I used to, or simply let it wash over you at the multiplex while you sip a Diet Coke. I’m feeding the joy wolf right now.
You know who else was finding their joy? The people at the DeathCab for Cutie concert drinking Cutwater Old Fashioned like it was White Claw. I’ve never seen people get so drunk so fast. One man, heading out on another booze run, was so inebriated that he could not pick up his dropped phone. He would stand with his legs wide apart for balance, fold at the waist, and try to swing his arms over the phone like a human claw machine. I don’t drink anymore, but I know a good time when I see it.
To spark more joy, I’ve been doing a rewatch of Gilmore Girls with my daughter. Lorelai’s house is for sale for a cool $3.9 million, so I’m guessing she was accepting money from Richard and Emily after all. I’m now being fed a Gilmore Girls algorithm on Instagram and someone realized that if you start the series on September 22 and watch one episode a week, the Season 1 holiday episodes land in December. Yes, that’s how TV used to work. If you were brought up on streaming services, however, this must be a joyful revelation.
I’ve been reading a lot since a) I want to save civilization and b) it calms me down. I read Mary Kubica’s latest thriller, It’s Not Her, which reinforced why cottages and lakes freak me out. I’m reading Alan Opts Out by Courtney Maum, which is an absolute delight. I could swear the book is set in Southeast Oakville, but I guess all these leafy commuter towns are kind of the same. If you like satire and books about wealthy people doing silly things, you’ll love it. I also recommend Workhorse (The Devil Wears Prada meets Love Story meets The Fine Art of Lying) and Clutch (five midlife friends gather for a reunion in Palm Springs.)
I’m following Borotan, the fox terrier with the very serious look. If he turns out to be AI, I’ll be devastated.
I wrote a thinkpiece on happiness and wealth for Canadian Family Offices. If you want some commentary around money and happiness, this is for you. I think I’ll pick a money book for September’s book club (August is Mattering by Jennifer Breheny Wallace). I’ve been following the story of Stacey Duguid, author and former editor of Elle, as she shares her financial setbacks (and age-based unemployment) as a way to destigmatize the issue for others. Money shame is a real joy killer and these are important conversations.
Three weeks in, I’ve observed that joy comes from paying attention, following your interests, stepping away from social media or training it to show you what you like, reading, going for walks, ignoring the joy police, and allowing yourself to enjoy what you enjoy even if it’s not perfect.
What are your observations about joy?
Xx Jen
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.