Desperately Seeking Joy
Melissa Etheridge and Cindy, post Come to My Window 11/8/23, NYC
About ten years ago, a well-meaning, truly dedicated psychiatrist suggested that my core level of depression could be my basic personality. That maybe it couldn’t be changed. He never mentioned this again, and we tried MANY treatments before and after that statement; they worked to varying degrees over the decade that I saw him. Even with a diagnosis of treatment-resistant depression, however, I kept thinking that I deserved some happiness, some joy. I couldn’t live a life of telling OTHERS with 100% confidence that THEY deserved, and could find, happiness and then deny myself, right?
Very recently, I gained two new diagnoses—Bipolar II (a “mini-version” of Bipolar in which the person suffers mainly from daily depression) and ADHD. Understanding how my brain works offered a slice of relief—a lightness; I pledged to seek out pleasurable activities on purpose when possible—I added tools to my emotional toolbox and made some changes.
For one small act, I signed onto the live broadcast of Turning Life into Art: A Conversation with Roxane Gay and Anna Qu through Lighthouse Writers Workshop. Gay stressed, as maybe she has always stressed, “You have to choose joy in your work.” This woman writes about sexual abuse, weight discrimination, misogyny, patriarchy, etc. Her writing is NOT light. She shared that writing the Comic Book SeriesThe World of Wakanda and other such projects allows her to write the other hard stuff —she’s even writing a romance novel (out in 2025) and creating a few other projects JUST FOR FUN! I tucked that away, nodded, said, “Yea, why ARE we writing if it’s not bringing joy?!” Then moved on with my daily grind. I WANTED to believe that if Roxane Gay can write about the Marvel universe and romance, that anyone can write for fun, that I can.
As I moved on with my life—back to blips of happy and a primarily level emotional state—I opened my email to find an intriguing message from Coursera, asking me to sign on for a free 12-week course on Positive Psychology through Yale. I love learning new things; I hold (a really old) psychology degree and still fantasize about gaining another degree some time, and this felt like fate since I had started two nearly life-changing medications. I clicked on the TED Talk by Martin Seligman, the founder of Positive Psychology. The basic message spun my brain around a bit.
As President of the APA for decades, Seligman treated mental illness, categorized mental illness, tried to treat misery. Then, he realized that if you only treat misery, you can only expect success to register at a flat line, a zero affect. The goal fails before it reaches happiness. He set off to quantify methods for increasing joy and positivity instead of misery and depression. That made a lot of sense. Positive Psychologists discovered (through research and peer-reviewed studies,) that about 50% of your mental health makeup is genetic, 10% is situational, and 40% can be determined by YOU. That’s not a small percentage! I signed on for the course.
I find joy through music, and most often, via female musicians who sing the story of my life. So when I heard that Melissa Etheridge had a three-month run of Come to My Window, an autobiographical Broadway show, I bought two tickets nearly immediately. I brought along a good friend of 25+ years and we climbed aboard an Amtrak. New York lands right up there in my favorite cities, and I wanted to live there much of my life, but it never panned out. This visit, I struggled a bit more—I am older, fatter, slower. I almost fell backwards, down the stairs in the crowded subway—ever grateful to Sarah for catching me and my backpack and my heavy suitcase. I went the wrong way on a subway—rookie mistake. I DEFINITELY looked like a tourist. The streets seemed emptier, a little sad this visit. BUT I am determined to apply the tenets of Positive Psychology—and one of those is savoring moments while in the moment.
Sarah and I shared Cafe doughnuts so simple and delicious that we may never eat a chain store doughnut again. We ventured to MoMa and discussed paintings that brought out buried knowledge deep within me (I dated a visual artist long ago and when we went to Paris in the 90s, she taught me a plethora about Moderns and other artists.) We sought out Kahlo, Wyeth, Miro (I forgot how scary Miro is!,) Dali, Giacometti, oh—so many others—and chatted about how various paintings made us feel. That’s not usually what Sarah and I do, but we savored. We also talked about our friendship and about other people we loved and those we had lost.
During the show that evening, I cried actual tears when Melissa Etheridge spoke about her mother kicking her out because of her “psychological disorder” (being gay.) I cried when she revealed her 21-year-old son’s last text to her: “Mama, it’s fentanyl” and her ex-wife’s emails: “He’s dead.” and “It’s your fault.” But most of her show was about JOY. Even after she “lost all music” in the wake of her son’s death, she knew, eventually, that she needed to climb out and find happiness, to seek joy in music, in a higher power that resonated with her, in the love of her wife and her three living children, and joy in her specific belief systems. Her next tour is entitled, “I’m Not Broken.” Hell yes. If Melissa Etheridge can go through all of that and live a joyous, NOT BROKEN existence, then so can I. Or I can at least strive for it in my work and in my personal endeavors.
The next evening in New York, after my friend headed back to VA, I made the tough decision between a night with The Cowboy Junkies and Joan Baez & Patti Smith in conversation with Amanda Petrusich. I chose the conversation. The Cowboy Junkies played the soundtrack to many years of my life—making love under billowing curtains in non-air conditioned buildings, psychedelics with no fancy names as yet—often leading to Lite Brite marathons or dancing on rooftops, a surreal life split between Southern Baptist roots and yearning. Sometimes I hear their lonesome timbre searing through my memory as I walk down a lonesome street or write in silence. But I chose the quiet of a Temple over the Winery where the band was playing—I doubted I could drink wine all night and socialize—and it’s not like I drew the short straw with Baez and Smith!
So I donned my heavy jeans, my “funky” sweater, my chunky shoes, and headed down 5th Avenue, pretending I might belong there for half a mile or so (believe me, I didn’t LOOK like I belonged there, but you know how confidence works—it’s in the step and the tilt of the head and the imagination.) 5th Avenue always feels a little like the Emperor’s New Clothes….but my lesson was to savor. So I savored the smell of New York that I LOVE—even if it’s tinged with urine and exhaust, there’s nothing like it. I savored the wide array of street vendors and diverse languages (sadly, I had to tell a Spanish speaking couple that I didn’t know enough Spanish to help them figure out a Bus situation. (Lo siento. yo no se. yo solo hablo un poco…um un poquito…um…un poco… espanol. Lo siento.) I savored my ability to walk a mile even with aching neck, shoulders, back, hips, calves….(but I was alive and moving!) I savored the rush of New Yorkers and the stroll of tourists and the grown humans dressed as Minnie Mouse and other characters they chose for the day (or life?)
In New York, you know you’re alive as long as you’re in the fray.
After one wrong turn from my phone’s GPS directions, I found the entrance to the Temple where several ushers shuffled people quickly to seats even though I arrived 15 minutes early and the event started 10 minutes late.
The main lesson in this hour-long event?
You got it—Joy.
Patti Smith focused on sacrificing with joy and with finding meaning in work; Joan Baez focused on coming at things sideways to find the joy and meaning–(I plan to write more about them in a blog Part Two of Seeking Joy.) The universe was not whispering to me—it was shouting at me. Some of these icons found contentment through psychedelics, some through meditation, some through music and writing and painting, but all of them focused on themselves and their WORK, their ART. All of them persevered through tragedy and heartbreak. All of them lived on other people’s couches at some point in their lives—lived paycheck to paycheck. They found joy.
So What Does All of This Have to Do with Writing, you ask?
Your art is your work is your meaning is your joy, and there are ways to manage the emotional resonance.
Here are just a few simple tools that I have tried that seem to work:
1—Each day (morning works well, but any time is fine) write down 5 things in a gratitude list. Just let yourself be grateful without any ifs, ands, or buts. Example: I am grateful for your readership. You can begin to add an item in relation to your writing or your creative project. Example: I am grateful for my Energel .5mm pens. OR I am grateful to have lived such a story-filled life.
2— SAVOR moments each day. If the day is lovely and the wind is gently blowing your hair and you enjoy this sensation, stop and think about how lovely it feels and how much you are enjoying this moment. Stay in that joyful moment. More of them will arise without you even trying. This will release some tension throughout each day and free up some time.
3—Compose a “Why I Write” essay here and there to remind yourself what you enjoy about writing—or what compels you to write. I LOVE revision, playing with words to find just the right meaning; I love that moment when I connect some dots and link two events or symbols or themes; I love to tell a story so that I can set it free from my dark unconscious realm. You can set a timer for this, make a list, or write a longer essay. No rules!
There’s so much more about joy and writing and creativity, but for right now, keep it simple!
Be grateful; Savor; Remember the Joy of Writing. If the joy is gone, read for fun, allow yourself to write about unusual topics, write in a new genre—whatever allows you to get at your work sideways!
