Weekly Wide-Awake: Very Little Real Pleasure In Joy

[The Stage is on Fire] is a page-turner in which, much like life, there are no easy answers and yet each step of the journey yields insight and hope. This work of heart must not be missed!

Melanie Faith

Creative Writing Teacher, Essayist & Poet.

Katie Steedly’s first-person piece [The Unspeakable Gift] is a riveting retelling of her participation in a National Institutes of Health study that aided her quest to come to grips with her life of living with a rare genetic disorder. Her writing is superb.

The Society of Professional Journalists

In recognition of receiving the Dateline Award for the Washingtonian Magazine essay, The Unspeakable Gift.

I thank you … It is the authenticity of your “class notes”; and it is the delicacy and skill with which you present the nuances of classroom life and the actuality of your students’ and fellow teachers’ lives.

Maxine Greene

Philosopher and Education Scholar

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Weekly Wide-Awake: Very Little Real Pleasure In Joy

The thing no one ever tells you about joy is that it has very little real pleasure in it. —
Zadie Smith

Joy is complicated. It is easy to miss amid scurrying, forget amid noise, and neglect amid fear. It can be invisible in the heaviness of cruelty, wispy in the bigness of hate, or ghostlike in the fog of isolation.

Before it slips through my fingers, I want to bring joy home. We can find joy in small happenings. We can find joy in knowing we are not alone. We can find joy in starts and finishes, dreams and showing up, building and all the generative and sustaining things we can imagine. I know a few things about distinguishing between joy and pleasure. Joy happens when we free, create, and share. Joy happens at the edge, in the fray, and within the heart. Joy is a state of being. Bringing joy home means connection. It means oneness. It means all together we are whole.

What I Am Learning

Darling Coffee

The periodic pleasure/ of small happenings/ is upon us — Meena Alexander

Small happenings are rituals—rituals of the everyday, rituals of the magical, rituals of the universal, rituals of the seasons, rituals of the tides, rituals of our days. The door opens. The clouds blow in and blow out. A cat covers her face with herpaw as she takes an afternoon nap in the sun. Laying next to one another in the morning before the day begins. Running races. Climbing mountains. Washing dishes. Taking a bath. Breathing at a steady pace.

We Are The Lonely

We are the lonely all together/ All together we’re all alone — John Price

I am learning that chaos leads to loneliness. Chaos distracts and upends. Chaos disorients and confuses. Chaos tears and separates. That is exactly how it isolates. Once isolated, we are alone. Let me explain. I have never felt more alone than I feel in crowds. (That is how I understand we can be alone together.) That being said, I love cities. Living in cities for many years, I know how noise and anonymity can breed isolation. The exact measure of a city’s energy — its pulse, vibration, and flow — can cause separation and loneliness. Too many stories make it easy for stories to get lost. Too many songs make it impossible to hear the music. Too many people make it easy to lose our breath. All that can happen anywhere, as stories, songs, and people are vulnerable in a world that does not pay attention.

Marathon

The music of a marathon is a powerful strain, one of those tunes of glory. It asks us to forsake pleasures, to discipline the body, to find courage, to renew faith, and tobecome one’s own person, utterly and completely. -George Sheehan

Doing a marathon was on my “before I am thirty” list. I was twenty-nine and had not run a timed mile since high school. I weighed thirty pounds more than I did at that time. I got winded when I walked up a flight of stairs and did not own a pair of running shoes. Despite all that, on December 18, 1999, I registered to compete in the San Diego Rock-N-Roll Marathon. The 18th was significant because it was the anniversary of the day I resigned from my high school teaching job. I wanted to reclaim it as something powerful and cheerful while also making good on a “before I am thirty” promise to myself. Home in Indiana after a tough semester in Austin, I sat on the couch at my parent’s house and explained I wanted to do a marathon. They responded with support, well-masked doubt, and a healthy amount of concern.