by Linda Abbott Trapp, Ph.D.

Once in a very great while, more often if you're incredibly lucky, joy will drop into your life. It may be a simple thing, such as seeing an exceptionally beautiful flower, or it might be one of life's peak experiences, like the birth of a child, that triggers the emotion of joy. Whatever brings it on, take immediate action. Notice it, stop everything else. Breathe it in, listen to it, touch it, taste it, smell it, revel in it, roll around in it, suspend time and ignore everyone else. This is too important for manners, for civilized, polite behavior. Joy is elemental, real, and rare. Joy is the emotion of great happiness. It is something or someone that provides pleasure: a source of happiness.

When my first granddaughter, Kesla, came into this world, I was in San Francisco, attending a meeting of a group I had worked very hard to be welcomed into. We were all so self-important, so potentially powerful, and our meetings so very informative and elegant, that they must have thought I was stupid or crazy, or both, to abandon them in a rush, shouting over my shoulder, "She's just been born!" I ran for the parking lot, raced to Fresno, dashed into the hospital room, and held her for the first time. I remember promising, "Honey, when you're ten, we're going to Paris!", although I had never had that thought before, and don't remember why I said it. Probably it was some kind of altered mental state, induced by joy.

Years later, that same joy came back to visit, although it didn't look that way at first. My daughter Heather had a hard time when Carson was born- back labor, they said. She was so exhausted, so tired from all the hours of pain. Her husband Mark was wonderful to watch with his newborn son- a giant of a man so tender, so loving and so clearly awed. But the best moment for me was watching when he first handed the baby, a few minutes old, to Heather. Her outstretched arms and tears of joy are inscribed forever on my brain.

Sometimes the grace of joy comes in time to heal a hurt or keep us from making a mistake. When we first moved into an unfinished house in Mexico, we suffered through the learning process of construction in a different culture. There were times I really hated it and regretted our decision. One day, after several days without hot water and other comforts, I was just fed up! I stormed from the house in a rage, heading for the street, ready to just keep going. Just then, a flock of 50 or 60 beautiful, chirping, wild parakeets flew just over my head and settled in the tree across the street. I looked up and said "OK, God, I get it; it's not about the hot water".

It's not always the big stuff that brings joy, although often it is. I've felt it praying, and I've felt it watching puppies play. It's been there when I gazed at a mountain range, heard a lovely symphony passage, felt the closeness of holding my Dad's hand when he was old and sick, watched a child learn to trust her own abilities, studied a masterful painting, or listened to a friend offer understanding and comfort. In each of these experiences I was caught up, taken outside of myself and my daily concerns, and set right. Joy has come in good times and in hard times, in the midst of a loving family or group of friends, and it has come to me when I was alone and afraid. The trick is to be ready, be willing to give it its due place, learn from it, and be grateful. It has its reasons, and they are not ours to predict or understand. It's a precious gift, not something we can plug in and turn on whenever we want.

One time soon after my husband Alan died, I was driving to Nevada, where I had agreed to work for a few days. I was sad and frightened about many things. Even so, I couldn't help but notice how beautifully the lowering sun had washed transparent layers of pink and purple over the mountains, and they were crowned with a light frosting of snow. In my loneliness and frustration I spoke out loud, "Oh, Alan, I wish you could see this!" Just then, I heard him say, in the clearest, sweetest voice, "You should see it here!" The rush of joy told me he was fine, in a better place, and I could let go and move forward. I never heard that voice again, and I never needed to.

We are all, every day, standing on holy ground. Most of us never notice. But when we do, oh, when we do take or allow a break in our constant self-involvement, our repeated mental murmurings about wanting and needing and hurting and being angry, tired, and treated unjustly, then, just then, joy has a chance at us. We can be fully alive, then, nailed to the moment, bleeding tears of gratitude, expanding so quickly that it hurts and forces us to inhale sharply. There's a book called Authentic Happiness by Martin Seligman, a past president of The American Psychological Association. In it, he encourages us to savor joy and to fight against habituation- which means, roughly, getting so used to something that we don't think much of it at all. Savoring is like rolling something around in your mouth to get all the possible taste from it. Simply, it means paying attention. So for example, the next time there's a gorgeous sunset, stop what you're doing and look, really look, at it, and say thanks. If you practice studying these mountaintops of joy very closely, they will be easier to recall when you're in a valley of sadness or discouragement. If you remember them well, you can begin to plan a path that takes you back to those mountaintops. I'll be waiting for you there.

Workbook Questions:

1. Write a few words describing each of three experiences you've had in your life that has brought you joy.
2. Has joy ever surprised you by its sudden arrival? What were you focused on when that happened?
3. What activity takes you outside of your normal self-involvement? Have you ever experienced joy through that activity?
4. What other activities might help open you to experiences of joy?
5. The next time you sense that joy is about to happen for you, what can you do to more fully experience and savor it?

About the Author:

Dr. Linda Abbott Trapp is the author of Intentional Living; Lessons from the Tree of Life, and the award-winning Letters to My Granddaughters; Insights and Inspiration for a Life Journey. She is a former Dean at the California School of Professional Psychology, and has presented more than 3,000 seminars in the U.S. and abroad.