Joyful Disbelief
When the stars kiss your shoulders and Tunde from Peloton blows your damn mind
The letter sat on my bed.
I hurricaned in to the room and would have missed it, except it seemed to have its own halo, drawing my attention to its form.
I dropped all of my high school things, the bags on bags, shlepped home after an evening spent decorating for the Winterfest dance and slowly approached the letter.
It was an ordinary letter, a No. 10 envelope, not fat or thin. Just…ordinary.
My heart pounded. Was ordinary good? Could life-altering news be received in an ordinary envelope? Or were those envelopes reserved only for the disappointing news, in which case I could leave it right there, unopened, and keep the disappointing sealed inside.
But what if it was good news?
I sat down on the bed next to the letter. Looking down at it, I hesitantly touched it, afraid to absorb whatever news it contained too soon. Trying to slow down my breathing, I picked it up and slid my finger along the back flap. I stopped to close my eyes and lament a silent “Pleeeease…” and opened the letter.
“The Park Scholarships at North Carolina State University are pleased to inform you that you have been selected…”
I stopped reading. YOU. Have been. SELECTED. I had been selected. A full academic scholarship. One I thought I didn’t care about but desperately wanted (and needed…really needed). They selected ME.
Another beat of silence, and I began yelling. “Mom! Mom! I got it! I got it!”
I half fell, half ran down the stairs, tears starting, throwing myself in to her happy hug.
Joyful disbelief.
Me. They selected ME. And on my birthday. Birthday candles aren’t the only thing that make wishes come true.
This phrase, “joyful disbelief” is not my own. I don’t even know the originator. I’m borrowing it from a friend of a friend…ish.
I’m a Peloton rider. And not because of COVID. We bought that woefully expensive bike with insurance money after two, 120-ft redwood trees fell in a wind storm/tornado (the insurance company claims the former, but I saw the damn thing so they called it “semantics”) and demolished the garage that housed our road bikes. I was told the money had to be used to purchase a “like item”. Ha ha ha…I’ve got your semantics right here buddy.
I appreciate an alternative to running that leaves me soaked in sweat and humming 90’s rap for the rest of the day. During COVID, I started using the app for more than just rides and fell in love with the sadistic strength classes from instructor Tunde Oyeneyin. Besides just needing to get my ass kicked on the reg, I liked her. She’s a shitty counter and I know her assertion of “3 - 2 - 1” is absolutely 10 more seconds, not 3, but I forgive her because she tells stories about her dates and invites me to “The Confessional” where she deals dirt (I’m sure preapproved) about her fellow instructors. We could be friends is all I’m sayin’.
Monday was a morning. The type of morning where I needed to borrow motivation. So, deep in to a ride I did not want to do, Tunde said that she has a lot of exciting things, things she could never have dreamed of, about to happen in her life.
Me: Cool for you. (Now sweaty AND grumpy.)
Tunde: I was talking to my friend this morning about all of these things and she called it “joyful disbelief” and I say “If your work is not producing joyful disbelief, why are you giving it your time?”
Me: Wait…what?!?
I couldn’t figure out how to ride and rewind at the same time, so I just kept repeating that phrase until I could get to my phone to write it down.
Joyful disbelief. Joyful disbelief. Joyful disbelief.
That feeling of uncertain exuberance when you recognize that a tiny miracle has somehow exploded inside your life bubble, quietly showering you with immeasurable joy.
It’s hard to believe.
I was so focused on the phrase itself that it took me awhile to pay any attention to the sentence.
“If your work is not producing joyful disbelief, why are you giving it your time?”
Wow.
For most of my adult life, my work has been producing a paycheck, a benefits package, a title, and, occasionally, an opportunity to learn something new. I’ve kept going largely because of that last one, but “joyful disbelief” hasn’t been on the checklist when I’ve made a career move.
Don’t misunderstand. My professional life has been filled with growth, challenge, and accomplishment. I have been blessed to work with individuals and teams that humble me with their intellect, creativity, and humanity. It has been an interesting, sometimes wild, ride.
But I have rarely felt the remnants of shooting stars alight my shoulders. Rarely wondered if I should pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Rarely asked the internal question turned affirmation…ME? ME.
When I met my husband, I felt like the Universe waved its magic wand my way with one triumphant “Bippity-Boppity-BOO!”
Joyful disbelief.
He was…is…exceptional. And he made me feel exceptional because he actually seemed to like me too. ME?!?
“Tell the world that we finally got it all right.”
The words I sang to him at our wedding reception.
And these…
There was a time when I would have believed them
If they told me, you could not come true
Just love's illusion
But then you found me and everything changed
And I believe in something again
Listen to Sara Bareilles sing it here (1:36)…
He made me believe in so many things again, including myself.
You see this joyful disbelief comes from the work, yes, but part of the work is believing first that the thing, whatever that is, is possible. And not just possible for someone else, but for you. For me.
It wasn’t until I believed in the possibility of my husband that the Universe could give him to me. It needed to know I could embrace the magic.
I had to reunite with that belief to start writing again. To connect with the possibility that when I put the work on the page there would be an audience to receive it. Belief that something, anything that could come out of me could touch some of you and that would create its own kind of magic.
And it has.
As of late, I spend a lot of time looking up, turning my face toward the sun and allowing its shine to embolden me to ask the night sky for its stars. I believe in the what could be, and I’m starting to let those coulds rise from my soul to the sky for consideration of possible woulds or will bes. It doesn’t feel greedy. I’m doing the work. I just finally know where to look for the magic.
So when I ask the clouds my question these days, the one born from disbelief and vulnerability...
For me?
Their response is one of unequivocal joy.
Fuck yeah, lady. For you.
Joyful disbelief is the single thing on my new life checklist. I won’t take a job without the promise of that magic. I will remove myself from relationships that can’t produce that wonder. I will direct my work to free the stars to fall and strive to feel the need to pinch myself regularly. And my benchmark for success?
Joy so big and so brash that even I can’t believe it…right up until it chooses ME.