Joy is Exhausting
And exhilarating...it's and/both
Have you ever wanted to leave your own party?
Not leave, leave, but rather open a random door and curl up on a strange bed, hidden by a mound of coats, and wrack out for just five minutes?
Has the joy ever been so big, so grand that it made you sleepy?
That was me on Saturday.
Saturday was my birthday, and since I love celebrating my birthday but don’t love asking other people to celebrate my birthday because, well, I’m not six and Sky Zone doesn’t host birthdays for 44-year olds, I decided to throw a book party on my birthday instead. All the celebration channeled towards this book I just published instead of towards my birthday. Brilliant! And who’s going to complain about a free champagne toast that just so happens to involve a “Happy Birthday to me!” before we toss ‘em back?!?
Gotcha! 😏
Winter in Virginia has been unkind this year, but Saturday was perfection. Blue skies, warm sun, happy people spilling out from every nook and cranny blinking from the bright light and overdose of Vitamin D.
The chandeliers sparkled as the second floor wall of windows blinked that same sun into the library where the event was held. My book on the shelves, a microphone resting on a table, and forty plus place settings ready and waiting for friends and family to arrive…surreal.
The chatter built as heads I recognized began to emerge up the stairs, eyes wide, taking in the space, the setting, the sun. Smiles and hugs and introductions filled the room as the core of my humanity all settled in the same place to celebrate…me.
The party continued as those from out of town carried the energy down the street to my mother-in-law’s. Her Ina Garten tribute spread was better than any caterer I could have hired, and the red velvet cake that tastes like home reminded me why I can never completely give up carbs.
Fueled by limoncello whip cream and Italian wine, the joy grew. Laughs became bellows, stories became sagas, and hours melted as friends united as family.
This is the essence of joy to me. This effortless flow between the people that make up the my heart puzzle.
This was BIG joy. Wide joy. Effusive joy.
By the time I got home, I could barely speak. Exhaustion pulled at my eyelids. My whole was happy, complete in a way that I rarely feel as an adult.
And it brought me to my bed.
In the moment, the energy felt endless, like some benevolent benefactor bought out the Ferris wheel for the night. But like the circular motion of the wheel, you can only get stuck at the top for a bit before you crest and come down the other side. The view from the top of joy was spectacular, but I was ready to get off the ride.
Far from being upset by this, I find myself deeply comforted in knowing that joy, too, is temporary, designed even in its fullest expression to be a gift, not a guarantee. If joy can unveil her full glory and then Irish exit out the back, so can I. There’s no need to chase her, to guilt her in to one more drink, to desperately convince her to overstay her welcome.
Give gratitude for the exhilaration.
And know that its natural partner is exhaustion.
On Sunday, I slowed way down, joy humming in my feet like the ache of a night spent in stilettos.
I broke bread at brunch. I walked by the water. I made it to my mat.
A previous version of me would already be planning the next joy💣, already jonesin’ for another high. This time, I made no plans; in fact, I canceled some. This time, I sat with the success, satisfied that my vision for this celebration was entirely and wholly realized.
I’m not panicked, worried when I’ll next experience the intoxication of joy.
In fact, I bound her up, collapsing her pages into something more manageable for transport back to my day-to-day life. Knowing she can expand and contract, that her mojo meets the moment, that there’s no need to be in constant pursuit of her fullness gives me permission to be small, still, silent too. Not because joy has escaped, but because she’s resting.
I don’t yet know how to manifest joy. Maybe I never will. But I’m learning how to send her a compelling invite, ask her to come early, and trust she’ll go home before last call. She’s the best kind of friend.
And Saturday was the best kind of birthday. Largely because joy came…and left.
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First - happy, happy birthday! Second - happy happy book day! (Why don’t we know more about this?) Third - thank you for another quietly inspiring piece that, as always, offers a powerful insight that seems so obvious in retrospect, but which would never have occurred to me on its own. So much love to you for this beautiful day. Thanks for sharing it with us. 💜
Happy Belated Birthday!