Protect your joy

What are you doing today to seek or spread kindness and joy?

A perfect fall view from Mount Sanitas, one of my favorite places to seek joy in Boulder, Colorado.

I woke up this morning to a flood of messages from friends across the pond that sort of resemble condolence cards. They’re wondering what the heck is going on here in the United States, and if I’m OK. They’re deeply sorry, they say. I am, too.

I’m visiting close friends in Boulder, Colorado, right now, and this is the first time I’ve been in the United States for a presidential election since 2012. In 2020, I was on lockdown in London. In 2016, I was emerging from a week of off-grid trekking in the Colombian Andes. On that surreal election night, I watched the votes roll in from a hotel room in Bogota. I left the U.S. in 2019 and have mostly lived abroad ever since.

This time, I’m an outsider in my own country.

To be honest, it hasn’t properly hit me yet. Perhaps it’s because I felt homesick this summer, and so I returned to the U.S. with a sense of urgency and fell in love with all the things I left behind five years ago. I’ve visited friends and family in New Hampshire, Rhode Island (where I grew up), Colorado, and Utah. I’ve spent the last six weeks focusing on who and what I love here and it has been a beautiful journey of reconnection.

That rush of positivity has buoyed me in a moment that is scary, painful, and embarrassing for our nation. And so, I feel like my job today is to redistribute that joy. A lot of people I love are not OK. A lot of people I don’t know, and will never meet, will be impacted by this change of power in devastating ways—including people who believe this is what they want.

Blackstone Boulevard, in Providence, Rhode Island, very close to where I grew up. Frequent walks here have brought me much joy this autumn.

I often feel like I can see the U.S. more clearly from afar than I was ever able to understand it when I lived here. What I have seen is obvious: we are divided. We live in a system that reinforces and feeds off of arbitrary polarization, and it’s making us deeply unhappy. I have a lot to say about this, but I think today is not the day.

Today, I want you to remember that you can commit to change-making while also finding ways to personally seek joy. It is not disrespectful to find and spread happiness in a time of despair. You can protect your mental health while also finding ways to fight the system. You can stay informed without being consumed by a never-ending news cycle that profits off of fear and anger. You can give small kindnesses freely to anyone, not only to those who agree with you or ‘deserve’ them.

Many years ago, I read a lovely article about battling burnout in Flow, the “magazine for paper lovers.” The author suggested visiting a favorite paper or stationary store as an antidote to stress. I think about this often, and for me it is perfect advice—there are few things I love more than being surrounded by vivid colors that have been crafted into postcards, letterhead, envelopes, and gift wrap: tangible, shareable joy.

Maybe your paper store is also a paper store, or maybe it’s a mountain view. Maybe it’s a patch of woods behind your house, or a beach, or a friend’s embrace, or a cup of tea in your favorite mug at your kitchen table.

Wherever it is, go there, and protect it.

Whatever it is that fills you back up is the best tool you have for the challenge that’s ahead.

The Providence Athenaeum, an extremely special and super-joyful place in my beloved Providence. Photo: Providence Athenaeum / Nat Rea

Where I’m finding joy today

I’m appreciating the sense of humor of a very funny new friend, drinking a chai latte at a local cafe, staring at the snowflakes accumulating on the pine trees outside the window, and making croissants (OK, baking frozen Trader Joe’s croissants) to deliver to friends. I’m visiting a plant store, helping my host with plant admin (read: spilling lots of dirt on her very nice rug), and mailing a handwritten letter across the ocean. Next up: We’ll be drinking all of the free samples at the Celestial Seasonings tea factory, which is conveniently across the street from where I’m staying.

I’m also thinking about the Providence Athenaeum, my favorite little library in the whole entire world. Their beautiful message on Instagram today is a reminder that hope endures, and so will we:

“The Athenæum opened its doors in 1838, at the tail-end of a massive national financial crisis. There were no cars, no planes, and no electricity. We kept track of everything on paper, by hand, and by gaslight. There was no radio, no television, and no internet. Martin Van Buren was the President. There were only 26 states.

This library has remained in operation through a civil war, two world wars, the Cold War, the Great Depression, various pandemics, myriad stock market collapses, and 47 national election cycles. We’ve survived great presidents and terrible ones, calm and chaos, floods, fires, and famines.

We’re open today, and we’ll be open tomorrow, and the day after that.”

The Providence Athenaeum c. 1918, looking much the same as it does today. Photo courtesy of the Providence Athenaeum

What are you doing to find joy today?

I learned this trick from one of my first friends in Boulder, when I moved here almost 10 years ago. In moments of stress or despair, she would ask: “What are you doing to seek joy today?” and I’ve since adopted it as my own strategy for myself and others.

It’s such a perfect question for moments like this, because it requires you to come up with an action plan to pull you out of despair and into a better headspace. It doesn’t have to be grand—it just has to work for you. If she asked me this and I didn’t have an answer, it was a sign that I was too deep into self-pity, and the question itself would draw me out of it. How can I seek joy today? I would ask myself. Even just thinking about that, and finding something to look forward to, has done me so much good.

So… what are you doing to seek joy today? Tell us. I’d love to hear what you’re up to.

Hugs and love,

Kassondra