Joy, in Its Rawest Form

I have been thinking a lot about joy.

Not happiness. I think they are very different things.

Happiness can feel loud, performative, conditional. Joy is quieter. Smaller. You can be deeply sad and still experience joy. I know that because I have. Joy does not cancel grief or darkness. It does not fix anything. It simply exists, like a light you notice out of the corner of your eye.

Joy is that tiny flicker that arrives when you see something beautiful, or hear something beautiful. When you recognise innocence, or a spark, or a moment of purity. It is subtle. Often physical. A soft lift in the chest. A small turning up of the lips before you realise you are smiling.

It does not prevent the darkness, but enough small moments of joy can slowly lead you out of it.

Last week, I felt joy watching my dog throw himself into a massive watery, muddy puddle. His face was completely covered in mud. He was ecstatic. Unapologetically alive. The joy in him was so pure it ignited joy in me too. It felt contagious, like a reminder of something simple and ancient.

Watching my daughter sing on stage fills me with a joy so big it almost feels explosive. It is pride, awe, love, wonder, all tangled together. And my son, with his wonderful humour and that infectious, ridiculous laugh, can flip my entire mood in seconds. Joy lives there too, in shared laughter and sudden lightness.

Joy can be found in the elements. Cold winter nights driving with the window open, letting the stabbing pain of icy air crash into my face. Looking up at the stars. Hearing an owl outside my bedroom window. These moments feel raw and alive, like the world briefly reaching out and touching me.

Nature brings me joy constantly. Plants. Trees. Birds. The sea. Wind on skin. Finding beach treasure. Discovering beautiful feathers in the woods. Noticing small details that would be easy to miss if I were rushing.

Art brings joy in its many forms. Music, poetry, television programmes, films. Sculptures. Handmade objects. A line of dialogue. A melody that lands just right. Joy does not need grandeur. Sometimes it lives in the smallest things.

Comfort can be joyful too. Wrapping myself in a fluffy blanket. Being submerged in a warm bath that smells lovely. The simple, daily ritual of my warm cup of coffee every morning. These are not dramatic experiences, but they matter. They anchor me.

Joy does not have to come with laughter. It does not always look like happiness. Sometimes it is quiet. Sometimes it is fleeting. Sometimes it is just a brief yes inside the body.

I was once told by someone older and wiser than me, “Darling, the only purpose of life is joy.”

At the time, I questioned that. Surely there must be more. Meaning. Responsibility. Growth. But the longer I sit with it, the more I wonder if they were right. Or at least closer to the truth than I realised.

I think joy is something I pair with gratitude. Maybe that is the key. I am grateful for my experiences of joy. Not every day, because I am human. But as often as I can remember to notice them.

And maybe that is enough.