A friend asked me recently if I would say that this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. I paused. Took stock of my life and my feelings at the time and told him no. I’m not sure what he was expecting me to say, maybe he just wanted me to be honest no matter the answer. But I left that conversation feeling unsettled.
This is not the happiest I have ever been in my life. But when was I the happiest? What makes me happy? What does it really even mean to be happy? What about joy? All of this was just ruminating in my mind. I couldn’t let his question go.
Another Mallory once told me that our name means joyous one. I have found it so interesting to consider that every time a person says my name, no matter the way they mean it, they are saying ‘joyous one’ to me. Me, the self-proclaimed melancholy inclined woman. Joy is not the emotion I would have chosen for myself. I am much better at being sad. What I have found, and what those who love me well have reflected back to me, is that in the midst of my sadness I have unknowingly created a deep capacity for joy.
One friend told me that because of the deep grief and sorrow I have experienced that I have an increased capacity for joy. And honestly it seems absurd some days to consider. But she was right. I do have an increased capacity for joy. As grief and sorrow have expanded my heart there has been more room made for joy.
I used to think that joy was this big, overwhelming, and all encompassing emotion. And it certainly can be. But joy is so often found in the little things as well. The joy I experience when I get to watch the newest episode of Great British Bake Off. The joy of celebrating a student obtaining his GED. The joy in seeing those I love live out dreams. The joy in making a perfect cup of coffee.
Joy has overwhelmed me, not all at once, but in small moments throughout my life. I know C.S. Lewis has written a book, Surprised by Joy, and it’s on my list to read. But I agree with the title at least, that I have been surprised by joy. I expected it to be big, but I have more often found it to be small. And the reality is that I have needed it to be small. When the days are long and feeling dark it is that small spark of joy that brings light. And that is what I want in my life if I am being honest. The big joys are great, I am grateful for them, but day in and day out I need the little joys to see me through.
So I began to wonder if I would say that this time in my life has held the most joy. And still the answer was no. And I still felt unsettled. Saying this is not the happiest I have been and this is not a time in my life with the most joy made me pause to wonder how I am really feeling. I was worried that all I would be able to show for these final months of 29 was sadness and melancholy. I wouldn’t mind it, it’s fairly normal for me. But I have found it is not always easy to explain that to another person.
Honestly it felt like asking me if I was happy was an unfair question. It didn’t fit, it didn’t feel right but I didn’t know what I needed to be asked instead. I just sat with the question. Sat with the frustration. And just kept pondering. I had lunch with some delightful friends one Sunday and one of the questions we were answering as we talked was to explain something we had been ruminating on. It seemed like the perfect time and space to take all these thoughts rumbling around and present them to someone else. Maybe someone else could make sense of what felt so muddled in my brain.
And someone else did. I was presented with the words peace and contentment. Yes I could be asked if I was happy. But I could also be asked if I was sleeping well. And honestly, that is a far better indication of how I am doing than my happiness. I just hadn’t realized it until someone else said it. I think back to a couple of years ago when I had a job that caused immense anxiety. I was overwhelmed and unravelling. And I wasn’t sleeping. It took me months to be able to sleep well after I quit that job. It took me months to find peace again.
But I found peace. And I have found contentment. Despite all that I have experienced I have peace, a peace that truly passes all understanding. A peace that is abiding in the melancholy and joy. A peace that is like a river, flowing through my life, quenching my thirst and sustaining me in the midst of all that I am experiencing.
So I went back to that friend and told him I hadn’t stopped thinking about his question. And that I had decided I didn’t like his question and that I had settled on a new one. That I would rather have peace than happiness be the metric of my life.
And I would say that this is a time in my life when I am experiencing a deep peace. Things feel rocky and uncertain at times. As I approach 30 I am beginning to take stock of my life and let me tell you, 18 year old me simply could not have predicted all of this. But I have a deep peace about my life. My life is good. My life is rich. My life has been wholly unexpected and exactly what I have needed.
There are days I worry about where I am going and what might be next. But I have peace for this day and that’s enough for me. I know that the life I am living is one to be proud of. I once told someone that if I had to describe my life in broad strokes that my desire was to have a life painted with love. To love others well, everywhere I went. And I am getting to live that out. It isn’t what I planned and it isn’t what I thought I would want. But it is good. And it is mine. And I am proud of that.