On Finding Joy
In a TED-inspired talk I gave this summer, I spoke about how seeking joy is a powerful motivating force for animals (see Freud’s pleasure principle). Joy drives us to master new skills and helps us resist our natural tendency to see our world as a downward spiral. I highlighted this in the talk by showing a video clip of a crow sliding down a snowy rooftop on a lid—joy is its own reward.
As we begin the new year with short days (in the Northern Hemisphere) and battle seasonal depression, I want to share some of the most joyful moments of my life in the hope that you’ll look back on yours. Looking back on joyful moments has been shown to improve mood (light therapy, exercise, friendship, and antidepressants help too).
Sun. We don’t see the low winter sun very often here in southwestern B.C., and when it does glow on the horizon, I go out of my way to feel it on my face. I find a sunny spot in a front window, close my eyes, and imagine it’s May instead of January. John Denver sang of sunshine on his shoulders when I was a kid, and it always puzzled me why he enjoyed it there rather than on his face.[i]
Cross-country skiing. I have blissful memories of below-zero days in Minnesota when I’d bundle up in my warmest jacket, scarf, and toque, wax my cross-country skis, and take off across the frozen lake behind our house. It was often at its blindingly sunniest when the temperature dipped below minus twenty Fahrenheit and the white snow sparkled and glowed with a blue hue. Egg Lake was mostly swamp with a thin layer of water in the summer, but transformed into a skating and cross-country paradise when it froze in the winter. The cattails hosted red-winged blackbirds the rest of the year, and hearing them now always takes me back there.
Swimming. Growing up in the “Land of 10,000 Lakes,” I had no shortage of places to swim, and the one where I learned to snorkel was Square Lake. Unlike Egg Lake, which, as mentioned, was a swamp surrounded by cattails where no one swam or boated, Square Lake was as clear as bathwater. It was so clear that when I stepped out of my Styrofoam Snark sailboat for the first time near shore, I learned that clear water looks shallower than it is. I toppled into the ten-foot water, wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and an expression that said, I’m going in!
Snorkelling gave me a sense of flying over fish, grass, and snails. The cool water made me feel safe—an amniotic sense of being loved. Swimming now, with my new wetsuits, bathing suits, and anatomy, affirms my female sex and brings on the highest glow of gender euphoria.
Cycling. Before I learned to drive, I found freedom on my first touring bike: a navy-blue Raleigh Gran Sport that I bought, like my sailboat, with money I earned mowing lawns. The wind through my hair and the sun on my back complemented muscles that needed to pull and strain to feel alive. The best rides were along corn and soybean fields, where there were few cars or dogs to make me anxious. Rolling down steep hills here in Vancouver, I relive some of that thrill when I stand on the pedals and imagine I’m a teenager again.
Between bikes, I drove motorcycles, and the last one I owned was a 1982 Yamaha Virago with custom pipes. Twisting the throttle released a rumbling growl and a G-force pull that made me feel like I could fly. What I wouldn’t give to feel that again—honestly, does anyone know where I could rent a Harley for a few minutes? I still have my licence.
Long walks hand in hand. Memories of walking with girlfriends and lovers blend with warmth, a setting sun, and dry fall leaves barely clinging to their branches. Soft hands, sometimes lightly sweating, swing in rhythm with our steps and conversation. The memories are silent but come with an oxytocin high.
More Than a Feeling. The Boston song came out when I was in elementary school, and I was forever bonded to it. When I hear it or see the video, I can’t help but smile. I can’t watch the drummer in the video banging away in his caveman tank top without thinking of simpler times.[ii] A close second to “More Than a Feeling” is “Dancing Queen” by ABBA, which makes me feel like the teenage girl hiding inside me back then.
First kiss, orgasms, spooning. Need I say more? With the right person, the joy is universal.
Lasagna and lemon cake. Mom often made my two favourite foods for my birthday, and when I remember them, I’m transported home to our small rancher with the linoleum kitchen floor and stained wood cabinets. The lasagna was spinach-based, a perfect combination of cheese, noodles, and sauce. The lemon cake, I discovered in adulthood, was a simple white box cake (e.g., Betty Crocker) with a proprietary lemon glaze. Happily, the vegan alternative is nearly as simple to make. The lasagna, on the other hand, is another story.
Vacations and checking into a hotel. Released from the unrelenting pressure of everyday life, my body relaxes on vacation. My libido returns, and I want to explore even the most mundane attractions as if they’re international treasures. Artist roadside exhibits become as remarkable as the Louvre. When a four- or five-star hotel is involved, the first thing I often notice upon opening the door is a fresh scent with notes of sage. The pure white towels smell faintly of bleach, and the firm carpet tickles my toes as I dress. Everything is exciting and different from home. Somehow, in that state of mind, different is better.
Lavender and saltwater. When I visited a French perfumery on a school trip to France, I discovered lavender, a plant and scent I hadn’t encountered in rural Minnesota. It came to symbolize the freedom of travel and a European worldview I yearned to live among. I can’t walk by lavender now without running my hands through it and briefly smelling the oil on my fingertips.
My memories of saltwater began when we moved to Los Angeles in 1988. Now, when I’m around it, it takes me back to my optimistic youth, my hopes for a fantastical life, and a feeling that I was meant to be near the sea. The brinier the saltwater, the harder the emotions hit me.
Flower garden full of bees. I mowed a few lawns for spending money as a teen and found myself mowing lawns as a homeowner in Connecticut and B.C. I secretly… always… hated… lawns. Both the monotony and the sickly smell of freshly mowed grass, sometimes mixed with eau de gasoline, were a bane. When watering restrictions came to the Lower Mainland and contractors working on our water line ripped out part of the irrigation, I leapt at the opportunity to remove the turf from our front yard and replace it with wildflowers. As soon as the first blooms appeared, so did the bees. What had once been a baked wasteland of Kentucky Bluegrass became an oasis. Even amid the rush-hour din, I can make out the hum of bees collecting pollen from flowers on reclaimed land.
Hugs. Every time I hug, I think, When was the last time I hugged someone? And why don’t I do it more often? I remember the last hugs with those who have passed, like my father and my grandmothers. My father felt big and strong, and my grandmothers were thin and bony. I feel joy at having known them and warmth from the unspoken love we shared as we embraced.
The real me in the mirror for the first time. I realize this has shades of Narcissus, but my first experience of gender euphoria came from a mirror. I came out to Sarah in the middle of Spring break and hadn’t started my medical transition yet, but I had a secret tube of lipstick I hadn’t tried. I finally felt free to look in the mirror and shade my lips a brilliant red. A lifetime of waiting led to a moment of focus on my lips. If I ignored the dark stubble, receding hairline, and tumour-like Adam’s apple, I could imagine a me who defied testosterone and societal pressure and became a woman.
What did you think? How are you doing? I’d love to chat…
[i] Maybe the word “face” versus “shoulders” sung as two syllables didn’t sound right to him. He wrote the song about the same Minnesota weather I experienced in my youth, so I can’t use geography and the angle of the sun to explain the anatomical difference.
[ii] Simpler, at least for me. I’m sure he and the adults around me weren’t living the carefree life I was.