Joy

Hi.

Hope you are well.

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Those who suffer from bi-polar disorder know joy.  Elation, really.  Or, as Alan Greenspan said, “Irrational exuberance.”  They also know that joy precedes the momentary cycle of normalcy, quickly followed by inconsolable desperation.

The joy I’m feeling isn’t like any of that.  It kinda snuck up on me … after creeping toward me for months, I think.

My struggles with depression are not impossible to conquer.  Often an attitude of gratitude is all that’s required.  Not always, however.

The joy I’m feeling isn’t like I’ve defeated depression on an emotional battleground.

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Changed jobs recently, within the same company.  The pressure now is minuscule compared to what it was.  My pay decreased by 18%, which worried me.  Committed that to God, knowing there was no way He could do anything about it.

Ha!

In what I know was an epiphany and what others will be sure was merely a stroke of cognizance, I realized my tax withholding could be changed so that I could claim myself on my taxes, thereby increasing my pay by?  Right. 

God is so cool.

My new, less taxing, job has contributed to my well-being, but it’s not why I have joy.

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My car is running great.  Donna the Honda is about to hit 325,000 miles.  I love it.  Sunroof, comfy seats.  Air-conditioning.  Decent trunk.  Good stereo (not that I use it very often).  Good tires, brakes, steering, etc.  Gets 24 mpg.  Not much money in the bank to replace it, but that’s OK.  In spite of faded paint and an interior blessed with “art” created by The Princess and I when we melted goop onto the passenger seat, it’s a great car.  Given to me – for free – by my old boss in a time of need. 

A guy told me yesterday, while standing next to his gargantuan truck – how he’d love to have a car like mine.  Seriously.  Said he pays $20 for “an eighth of a tank” of gas every day.  Wanted to know how much I paid for it.

Told him the story of how God provided it for me through the loving hands of a friend … for free.  If I had time, I would have told him about how Waldo the Volvo came to me in a similar way at an even more critical time in life.

Truth is ... neither my car nor your car can drive us to joy.

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I love my house. 

The carpets are skronked.  My vacuum cleaner died several months ago.  Replacing it isn’t high on my priority list.  The kitchen floor “got all tore up” the day I/we moved in almost 11 years ago.  They haven’t improved with age.

My yard tells passersby that the house is ladyless, but cared for nevertheless (I hope).

My deck overlooking The Dancing Deer Forest is heavenly.

My many rooms – each with its own personality – provide many forms of comfort and utility.  It’s a great house.

I have struggled to pay for it each month.  In the long run, it will be a wise decision, if I can survive the foolishness of paying for it in the interim.  We’ll see.

My house is a very, very fine house, but it is not the source of my joy. 

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I have my share of toys.  Couple of computers.  Couple of TVs.  The Bike.  Nothing to brag about, but more than billions of others on earth would ever hope to enjoy, let alone own.  I have plenty of books of crossword puzzles, a zillion dusty Bibles and shelves filled with forsaken board games.

My toys help me pass the time, but they don’t bring me joy.

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Have a When Harry Met Sally platonic friend, (although she’s WAY less fun in restaurants).  Doubt we’ll ever cuddle or kiss.  But we talk.  And we enjoy one another.  She won’t ride The Bike.  She goes to bed at dusk.  She’s always working.  She thinks she’s too young for me (although I’ve never kissed a woman as old as her).  We have about a 1% compatibility rating, but I enjoy calling her and she enjoys it when I call.

She knows I have no one to spoil and she is kind enough to allow me to express simple kindnesses to her.  She is also kind to me.  That’s enough for both of us.

Someday she’ll get a boyfriend and I’ll get a girlfriend, but I hope we’ll remain friends.

She makes me realize I do not have a girlfriend.

And she makes me realize that I am content – joyful, really – as I am.

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Got some extra money recently.  A bonus at work.  A tax refund.  Three paychecks in a month.  Took myself out for lunch a couple of times.  Repaired The Bike.  Popped the girls a couple of bucks.

It was nice to worry less about money, but that doesn’t bring true joy.

I remember a friend told me – with excelling vehemence – that she’d be happy if she had $15,000 in the bank.  At the time, I probably had three times that much.  Maybe more.  Money cannot induce joy.

Money can buy fun, toys and lots of other stuff.  It can make you forget – postpone, actually – the realization that you do not have joy.  Joy is not earned, nor is a soul rewarded by wealth.  No profit accrues to your psyche from money.  In my very limited experience, wealth increases the fear that you will lose it, or it will be stolen, or you’ll make a bad investment or you’ll [insert paranoia here].

The joy I feel is both in spite of not being wealthy and due to the knowledge that, from a global perspective, I live like a king.

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Part of what’s happening is that some things I have dreaded in life are mine in abundance, and it’s not as bad as I feared.

When I left New York for California, I left a girlfriend and I left a playmate.

When I got to California, I had girlfriends and playmates.

When I went to Alaska, I met a girl who became a playmate.

When I left Alaska, I left with a playmate who became a girlfriend.

When I returned to New York, I met a woman in a bar.  Moved in with her before our first date.  She became my first two wives.

At times, I have gone weeks between girlfriends.  Months.  Never years.  Never ever years and years.  Thought it would be hell.

Solitude has brought me joy.

Who knew?

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All my years have left me, until recently, bereft of the ken, wisdom, aptitude, knowledge, comprehension, wit, understanding, skill or ability to discern ...

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Hmmm.  I need to avoid the words [you-know-what] and [you-know-whatters].
The question is how???
Wait!!  Where's my thesaurus? 
OK.
Ready?
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"the absence of veracity" spoken by "those who are loquacious -- even garrulous -- yet intentionally and substantially dilute and distort the facts."

[How'd I do?]

Might be because I had such a small group of people in my life before.  I honestly believed that people almost always told the truth and that only crazoids told big lies.  Maybe that’s true.  But I no longer believe it.

My recent years as a salesman have brought me into contact with zillions of people.  God forgive me, but I think I can (almost, kinda, sorta) tell when someone isn’t telling me the truth.  I think I can tell when someone is telling me what I want to hear.  I think I can tell when people know what to say to make me curtail my sales pitch.  I think I can tell when people say what they don’t mean … maybe even because they don’t want to hurt my feelings.  And I can tell when people say things they don’t mean when their goal is to hurt my feelings.

There’s joy in knowing I’m not the sucker I used to be, even if the lessons have been painful.

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I hate to say this, but my relationships with my kids have been ugly more often than I want to tell you.

I am currently on speaking terms with one, and the other told me a month ago that I’d never see her or her kids ever again.  (Think: The Princess.)

Sad, but each time that wound is opened it hurts less.  Sad, but knowing that my kids have what it takes to cut me out of their lives forever is something I face.

And the repulsive truth is I can live without them.  And have joy, despite having a life with broken relationships.

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I grew up without my dad, who left when I was five.

My mom was ill for most of my life.  There were months I lived with relatives/friends of the family while Mom was in a hospital. 

My brother went to live with our grandmother when I was 12 or 13; maybe 14, I dunno.  Got along fine without him.  Still do.

If I know you personally, I don’t know when I saw you last or when I’ll see you again.  But we’re both alive and well.

My life requires so much less than I ever believed it would take to actually have contentment and joy.  I’m not talking about acquiescence to misery and accepting hopelessness.  Far from it.

My point, I think, is that you and I can have joy with or without the wish lists of our lives being fulfilled.

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I thank God for my health. 

I thank God for my family. 

I thank God for my job. 

I thank God for my life.

In spite of its imperfections, disappointments or whatever.

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If you’ve ever read any of my writing, you’ll know what’s next.  Not that I follow a constant pattern, at least intentionally.

It’s just that God is my source of joy.

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When my job was more than I could stand, He provided relief.

When I needed transportation, He provided it.

When I need company, He meets the need.

I am well.

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God has blessed me by providing for me.

God has blessed me in spite of unmet needs.

God has blessed me because of unmet needs.

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My joy is rooted in the truth that God will take care of me.

I can have peace in every situation.

At the very least, God will work it out for good.

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Do I want to be hired by the company where I’m trying to get a job as a freelance writer?  Sure.

Would I love to have someone to share a ride on The Bike with on a perfect day like today?  Sure.

Would I love to have healthier relationships with my kids?  Sure.

Would I love to have more money?  Sure.

Would I love a brand-new car?  Sure.

Would I love LOTS of stuff?  Sure.

But life is good … just as it is.

That, my friend, is joy.

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Here’s what I am not saying:

I’m not saying you’re not close to God if you’re having a tough time in life.

I’m not saying you should walk away from people who hurt you.

I’m not saying that my hard days are over.

What I’m saying is … I have joy these days.

And I am not afraid of losing it.

You can have joy too.  Maybe even more than me.

Because God will never leave us or forsake us.  That truth is the source of temporal and eternal joy.

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Blessings and joy to you.
Now and forever.

Robt