Two months ago, I wrote a post entitled, "It's Okay to not be Okay." This seemed an important recognition both for me and the world. We needn't pretend we're okay when we're not. Be messy, real, raw, vulnerable, lonely, or sad. Be however you are. And try to meet others there, too.
Now it feels important to share another message: It's okay to be happy. Life is complicated, heartbreaking, and uncertain. If I'm not careful, I'm pulled into heaviness. Though outwardly I exude light and compassion, my heart gets heavy. At a recent meditation retreat, I felt—in a visceral way—the holding back of my heart: there was a tug, a slight tightening, in my chest if I allowed for happiness and ease. My mental chatter created tension: "Joy, you shouldn't be happy, because Patrick just died," or "Joy, you shouldn't feel ease, because our country is in crisis."
By staying open and aware during that 3-day silent meditation retreat, I rediscovered lightness. I could feel a pull toward darkness (blame, anger, grief) and chose a different path. The red string around my wrist reminds me daily: enjoy my practice; lighten up; laugh and sing. It's helpful to realize that things change. For months, I felt heavy. Now I feel lighter. It's okay to not be okay, and it's equally okay to be happy (or to flow between the two).
In difficult times, it's a radical act to be creative and happy; to step away from darkness and move into the light. That's the kind of radical I'm trying to be: a superhero of kindness, joy, presence, and light. There's plenty of kryptonite in my path, but I have hope. Not blind hope, but hope as described by Rebecca Solnit: "We don't know what's going to happen next, and that gives us room to act. Hope is active engagement with uncertainty and the possibility that it holds."
Active engagement with uncertainty. Room for anything to happen. Allowing for pain while equally allowing for joy. It's okay to be happy.