On Finding Joy

It’s been difficult to find the right words. Usually, for a blog post that holds little weight against the rest of my writing, the words come easily and without fear of judgment. Not so much this time.

In the wake of the US presidential election, many of us are feeling overwhelmed, afraid, anxious. This isn’t what we wanted. If this past week has taught me anything, it’s that hope will always be fleeting when it sits upon external forces. We place our dreams up on a pedestal, trusting that the foundation of a fair world will ensure we get to climb to the top. But when that falls, how do we pick up all the pieces?

I’ve been seesawing between paralyzing fear and stubborn hope, which has muddled my brain and scattered my thoughts. As our problems and threats grow increasingly more difficult and dangerous, we are faced with a choice: We can either submit to fear and injustice, or we can learn to adapt to an ever-changing world. I’m well aware of how much easier that is said than done. Even now, I feel like I’m dragging myself through mud just to get this post out.

But this is what I do: I am a writer, and while it’s presumptuous of me to believe that my words might ever leave a lasting impact on my readers, it would be an even more egregious betrayal of them and myself to silence my voice now.

Before I dive too deep into this week’s ramblings, I want to share something I wrote in my journal that I hope brings comfort to anyone who needs it:

No matter how bad things get, there is a lesson to be learned from all of this. A lesson that is not ours to learn. We know what is right. We know what we stand for. There is power in already knowing what others will now struggle to learn. And that power is only fortified because we are so vast in number and in reach.

Fear is a stifling, halting thing, and it manifests differently for everyone. For me, it feels like a hundred stones have sunk into the pit of my stomach; it looks like an expression of perpetual alarm; it sounds like my voice—just cut to half the volume. But there’s a key hairline distinction to make here: I am experiencing fear, but I am not a fearful person. Fear is a response to external circumstances beyond my control. It’s an emotion that comes and goes, just like happiness or sadness. I’ve found an inner source of strength in recognizing that at my core, I am actually so hopeful. I want to inspire people with my words. I want to build bridges, reshape the world into the empathetic being I know it can be. That’s why, in this time of uncertainty, it is imperative that we all continue to seek and pursue the things that bring us joy.

“This ain’t a job for the faint-hearted…”

Source: The Seafarer & the Keeper by Kit Aldridge

Where there is joy, there is hope. The hope that comes from within is the kind that cannot come undone, no matter how grim things get. Strip away all the things that make you feel secure—family, friends, financial stability, a just and fair government—and look at what is left: you. You exist now because you have overcome every challenge you’ve faced. Something or someone told you to hold on, and I feel like that is the reminder we all need right now.

Don't interpret my urge for strength as a minimization of the truths of our reality. I understand that things are different this time around. Dangers are more pressing, but so is the need for community and allyship. The instinct to retreat and isolate is what delivers a premature victory to those seeking to seize control of everything we hold dear. Do not relinquish what has not yet been taken from you. Whatever it is that makes you feel strong, that fills you with joy, that gives you a sense of belonging and purpose—now is the time to embrace it. We spend so much of our lives waiting to feel ready to own our successes, waiting to see if anyone even cares enough for us to try. If you hear it from no one else: You are ready, and if you care, others will, too.

I don’t know what the future holds, but what I do know is that my words are my strength and comfort, my passion and joy. It is why, with the threat of censorship looming over us, I continue to write. If you are an artist, continue making your art. If you work in healthcare, continue saving lives. Whatever it is that you do to contribute to the lives around you, don't stop. Your sudden absence would cast ripples through your community, and remember what I said about needing to build our communities now more than ever. I won’t pretend that togetherness eliminates the fear, but it does make it easier to bear.

That's why I'm so grateful for my little corner of the internet. Since I took the leap and decided to start sharing my writing journey last year, I've made so many wonderful friends, forged valuable connections. Writers tend to be solitary beings, but I'm finding my place in a warm and welcoming community.

I have a short story coming out in six days. It’s my first publication, and amidst the impending chaos, I intend to celebrate this victory with my friends and the other authors who contributed to this anthology. When I came up with the idea for The Seafarer & the Keeper earlier this year (how that feels like several lifetimes ago!), I thought it would just be a cute little side project that would make a nice addition to my portfolio. Now, I find it to be no coincidence that the foundation of this story is a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark. It’s a story of unbreakable bonds, of finding strength within ourselves and our loved ones. That its release comes so swiftly after hope was stolen from many of us feels like no small thing. It feels like a reminder that joy still exists. I can find it; I can create it for myself; I can share it with others.

This is my call for anyone brave enough to listen: Be the lighthouse in your community. Be the one who weathers the storm, who illuminates the goodness in a world that’s become addicted to the bad. Don't just teach others to survive. Inspire them to live.

"The world... will be saved and remade by the dreamers..."

Source: Empire of Storms by Sarah J. Maas