More than a brighter shade of happiness

“What have you been thinking about joy recently?” Mike asked me over lunch the other day.

“I’ve been thinking about that research suggesting that people are happier before they have children,” I said. “And about how happiness and joy are different.”

“Are you going to write the easy post about how you often feel less happy on a moment to moment basis since Dominic’s birth, but you have more joy in your life?” Mike asked.

“No,” I said. “Because, although I would like to think that this is true, I’m not actually sure that it is.”

Despite the fact that joy is the theme of this month, I’ve been trying not to think too hard about the difference between happiness and joy. This question confuses me, and thinking too hard about anything confusing in the face of this enduring sleep deficit is still a struggle. But there’s no getting around it, if I’m going to exert even a half-hearted attempt to grapple with the concept of joy, this particular question must be confronted.

Mike and I first started talking about joy a couple of weekends ago when we were hanging out at Zen and I was feeling low low low. Mike asked me what I was thinking about regarding joy on that day, too. As I recall, I told him I didn’t feel at all joyful and I didn’t feel like talking about it. Also as I recall, Mike being Mike, he persevered with the conversation, anyway.

“Happiness is present focused,” Mike said when I gave in and asked him what he thought about the difference between joy and happiness. “Joy is more future focused. Also, happiness is more self-focused while joy is others-focused.”

“Like how we feel about Leslie’s and Ryan’s engagement,” Mike continued. “Objectively there’s little in it for us other than a kick ass party, so why do we feel so elated by this? I think that feeling of gladness we feel at their good news, that’s less happiness than it is joy.”

I don’t agree with Mike about joy being tied to anticipating future good things, but then again I don’t think that I’m a very future-oriented person. If anything, I get more joy from remembering past blessings than I do thinking about the future.

However, I think Mike’s point about joy being related to empathy – being rooted in an appreciation for the “good” in life even when that good doesn’t directly benefit you – is fascinating.

Many dictionaries define joy as intense or especially exultant happiness, but this doesn’t seem nuanced enough to me. Even if I don’t find it easy to pin down exactly why, I feel as if joy really should be something more than just a brighter shade of happiness – something wider and deeper, something that stems from beyond myself and my pleasures.

I think the man who listed joy as one of the “fruits of the spirit” in Galatians 5:22 would agree. That man would probably say that true joy is a by-product of our appreciation for, and relationship with, the divine.

A good friend recently made a similar point by email.

“Joy is hard to quantify, no?” she wrote. “I think that joy doesn’t always make you happy, because the fruit of the spirit is the result of the work of God in your heart and experience shows this to be not exclusively a blissful journey. (Maybe sometimes we are more like in the stage of ‘the flower-bud of the spirit’? I mean, fruit will probably come, but not for a few months yet…).”

“I love that image of a flower bud of the spirit,” I wrote back. “I will hold the image of jasmine in my mind. At least, I’ll hold it in my mind until Mike teases me that I’m really more one of those carnivorous, meat-eating flowers you find in the Amazon. And then I might wonder aloud what sort of poor marriage decision that little flower made to end up having to adapt to living in the tropics, and tell Mike that sometimes flowers just do what they have to do to survive. Then we’ll both laugh. Thank goodness that, most days, we can both still laugh.”

We did plenty of laughing this morning when Dominic suddenly decided that our dog scratching himself was the funniest sight he’d seen in his whole little life and laughed until he turned bright red and started hiccupping. Today’s so far been a good day full of long baby naps and bright baby smiles and leisurely walks under cloudy skies to pick up groceries. Today I think of Dominic and smile. Today I can say without hesitation that Dominic’s birth has brought great joy into my life.

But today doesn’t tell the whole story of this last week.

Last week at this time I was alone in the house, exhausted from several nights in a row of broken sleep, unable to escape the screech of power tools right next door, and trying in vain to settle a grumpy baby who didn’t want to put down (or to sleep). I was walking the floor of our bedroom with Dominic in my arms, crying, thinking that this could not possibly be the point of life.

I would like to be able to say that even in that desolate moment I felt that the demanding, wailing bundle in my arms had brought joy with him when he burst into my life four months ago. Yes, I would like that. But the truth of the matter is that I simply felt so bereft of happiness and joy that I had a hard time conceiving that I would ever really feel either happiness or joy again.

I would also like to be able to say that even during that moment that felt so joyless, I still knew that the demanding, wailing bundle in my arms had brought joy with him when he burst into my life four months ago. Yes, I would like that. But the truth of the matter is, the only thing I knew for sure in that moment was that I still wouldn’t wish his birth undone. If the Archangel Gabriel had appeared in that instant and offered me the chance to hand Dominic over, I would have refused (unless Gabriel had promised to bring him back markedly more cheerful in a couple of hours – then I would have relinquished him with great haste as well as both happiness and joy).

Perhaps I still don’t have this difference between joy and happiness all sorted out in my mind because they’re impossible to completely untangle in real life. Sometimes, I think, joy does feel like a brighter shade of happiness. But sometimes in moments when happiness is nowhere to be found, I think it can feel like peace instead. And perhaps sometimes it’s not really a feeling at all, but more an attitude, or even knowledge.

I don’t think that knowing you don’t really want to push the reset button regarding the existence of your child – even in those dark, exhausted, tear-drenched moments – quite reaches the lofty heights of joy. Perhaps, however, joy can sink its roots deep into this knowledge and continue to grow even when the fertilizer of happiness is in short supply. Because I believe now that what I discovered last month about love is also turning out to be true of joy.

Last month I wrote about how love for Dominic hadn’t swamped me like a tidal wave but was creeping in slowly and inexorably, like a rising tide. I don’t know why I expected joy to be a different kettle of fish in this regard, but I did. Subconsciously I’ve been thinking of joy as something you either have – flowering full and perfect in your life – or don’t have at all. It took my friend’s letter to make me realize that I had missed a foundational implication of the fruit of the spirit analogy – the fact that fruit, uh, grows. Slowly. As in weeks, months, and entire seasons slowly. This much I do know about the process, despite the fact that I’ve never been all that talented at growing things and prefer to buy my fruit from others who have done the hard and careful work of tending.

Gosh, wouldn’t it be easier if we could buy joy from our local grocery store or, better yet, instant-download it directly into our lives using the buy-with-one-click button on Amazon?

Easier? Maybe.

Better? I can’t articulate exactly why, but I suspect not.

I will strive to remember that as I rue the irony of spending the next month thinking about peace in the midst of our ongoing negotiations with our noisy neighbors. I will remember it tonight when I wake up in the wee dark hours, as I will inevitably do, to reach down and place a hand on a stirring baby. And I will remember it this afternoon as I go soon to get him up from his nap, change him, amuse him, feed him, love him. If part of deep joy necessarily springs from focusing on others, this mothering thing surely means that my emotional greenhouse will eventually be a fruitful, joyous, sweet mess of color. And in the meantime, there are fresh mangoes and tamarind available at the little stall just down the street. Maybe I’ll take Dominic for a walk in that direction this afternoon.

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12 responses to “More than a brighter shade of happiness

  1. What a great read. I really enjoyed that post Lis, thanks.

    Happiness and joy. Interesting to think about how they are different, when at first glance they appear to “feel” the same. I think it’s so easy to lump them together when the “feeling” of happiness makes the “attitude” (for lack of a better term) of joy much easier to come by.

    Hard to be joyful in the midst of frustration – and there’s no frustration like pacing with a screeching baby 😉 I actually wonder how one does that, that’s a challenge.

    For what it’s worth, I didn’t feel instantaneously joyful or elated after S was born either – I felt overwhelmed, primarily. I also felt a bit wrong, because I’d heard so many stories of new mothers feeling this intense love for their baby instantaneously, and my main feelings towards the baby weren’t love but a fierce protectiveness. Love came later – I had to fall in love.

    It was totally different the second time around though.

    • Yeah, I would imagine once you’ve traveled this road once it would be different the second time around as you’d be able to anticipate more. So cool to hear that, though. And hope you four are doing well.

  2. emotional greenhouse. hee hee. I’m impressed you can think this much about joy with a 4 mo old. I am thinking more about baby-related guilt lately—hmm, NOT a fruit of the spirit.

    • I read this, and then I thought “hmmmm… I should do a series on the seven deadly sins of motherhood” or the “anti-fruits of the spirit” or something. Then I remembered that I’m trying to pay attention to the more positive side of things this year, so I think you should do it. You’re welcome. (P.S. That “you’re welcome” was in anticipation of you thanking me for this passing along this brilliant idea). PPS, in all seriousness now (rare, I know) I would love to hear your thoughts on baby-related guilt.

  3. More joy to come, I promise!

  4. I was recently engaged and married in a matter of 6 months – I was at odds with myself because I didn’t feel the overwhelming joy and happiness that friends/family I knew to feel when they were head-over-heels in love, engaged and about to be married. I struggled with my choices, pondered my motive. My mum told me that some days I would feel hopelessly in love with my husband, other days I’d want to avoid him like the plague. And, like mothers everywhere, she was right. I think this has more to do with personalities than we think. I have a cousin that was oh so calm and even tempered when she was preggo with her 1st child, while her husband looked forward to curling up in bed every night to feel the baby kick. In the same regard, my fiance was super excited about the wedding and getting married while I was in the corner, quietly planning our elopement and/or the cancellation of the nuptials altogether, depending on the day. I just wasn’t all that excited! After about a month of marriage I had to confess to my new husband that I didn’t like it. Did I want out? Of course not. But I was stuck wondering where the intense joy and happiness was that I knew other newlyweds felt. I am still a bit flummoxed over their flimsy presence and absence altogether, but over time I am finding more and more enjoyment in being married and I don’t question anymore my quickie marriage. There’s no doubt I love him and want to be with him and, while I probably would have more comfortable waiting just a wee bit more time to get married (oh, maybe 10 years or so), if there’s one thing we all know, God’s timing is infinitely better than our own. Remembering that on a daily basis allows me to feel happiness in knowing I did do the right thing, and can wallow in the joy I know the future holds.

    I can’t speak for parents as I’m not one myself, but I’m guessing they would say the same thing about being parents. You wouldn’t dream about giving your child back because even in the midst of a 3-day long crying fit, you know what potential joy and happiness there is in raising your own flesh and blood. I’m told there is no greater joy and feeling of pride than to see your own child grow up and succeed. Perhaps those are the words of a seasoned parent who has seen the end results?

    All I can say is my husband has a long road ahead of him to convince me to give kids a shot!! The thought of raising mini-me’s (or him’s) scares the snot right outta me!

    • Hannah, thanks for sharing your story! I, too, didn’t feel exactly as I thought I “should” or “would” the week before my wedding. I often find I’m not feeling as I think I should. So glad to hear you’re growing in joy in your marriage though!

  5. Penelope Curling

    Hi Lisa! I enjoyed your post – thank you! It got me thinking, so I’m throwing in my 2 cents here, as a mother of a 22 year old and an 18year old. I think that at least some of the difference between what we feel and the way we think we should feel can be due to the fact that our expectations have been passed down to us by others for whom the experience is long over, and therefore nicely packaged and edited! I have almost only wonderfully happy memories of my babies even though I know that there were times when I despaired. Recently complaining to a friend about how difficult I was finding it dealing with my youngest child’s adolescence, I commented on how different it had been with my first born – upon which she reminded me of how much I had suffered at the time! It had truly slipped my mind, and had I been asked, I would have honestly told you that her adolescence hadn’t been too bad! I still remember the struggles of dealing with crying infants, sleepless nights, teething toddlers all the way through the raging teens, but somehow the suffering I experienced feels distant and very remote, while the joy of those periods remains fresh and intense.

    • Such good points!!! “Somehow the suffering I experienced feels distant and very remote, while the joy of those periods remains fresh and intense…” so well put. I think this operates in a lot of different areas in life, so I don’t know why I’d be surprised that the same is true for parenthood. Thanks for chiming in, and I hope you are both kids have had a wonderful Christmas!

  6. Always beautifully written, honest and thought provoking Lisa…words to reflect on and ponder! Thanks again…Enjoyed Penelope’s response as well…Wishing you both a truly happy (joyful?!) Christmas and holiday season.

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