Not long ago, I had a friend tell me, in an unsolicited and unexpected manner, that I didn’t have joy in my life, and it would be good for me to correct this. “Teaching can’t count because you do that for a living,” she said. “And writing can’t either, because you work at that with a goal in mind.” These are both fair points, because both teaching and writing are endeavors that require a lot of effort, and, as much as I love them both, they each come with TREMENDOUS amounts of frustration and usually from nine different directions all at once.
Now, to be clear, I wasn’t at all offended when this topic was brought up. Clearly I spend a lot of time immersed in self-reflection, so to be able to have a conversation like this was kind of a thinking-out-loud treat. That this person had even thought about the subject long enough to form any kind of conclusion was touching, and also surprising, considering my general belief that people tend to forget I exist unless I’m directly in their line of sight.
The thing is, I didn’t really disagree, although in retrospect I’m not entirely sure we were exactly thinking about the same thing. From her point of view, she wasn’t criticizing me for having a joyless life, but thinking more of how I could benefit from having that something else, that something extra that could provide me with emotional highs just for the sake of doing something and loving it. From my point of view, I was thinking that, yeah, my emotional spectrum is pretty leveled, and doesn’t really reach into that high register very often. I suppose this isn’t great, but it’s okay. Joy is an extreme. I think anyone claiming to feel constant joy would be purposefully oblivious to the horrible things going on in the world, and consequently might not be equipped for the harder times and disappointments that will eventually come to pass. I also think that to truly experience moments of pure joy, they can’t happen too frequently. Joy is an extreme, and like most extremes, having too much of it would be diluted.
Infrequent joy isn’t bad. If you felt it constantly, it wouldn’t mean as much. To really appreciate how powerful joy truly can be, you have to be familiar with what life is like in its absence. I don’t think most people walk around existing in joy clouds, but are more likely generally happy with how life is, or, even more likely, are just comfortably content. I’d put myself in that last category, and I’m generally fine with it.
Maybe a little more joy wouldn’t be so bad, however. But this begs the question: How do you get there? What or where are those extra things that can be pursued to enhance life? Every pursuit needs a starting point.
I think a good starting point, at least as good as anywhere else, could be the Mall of America.
Don’t get me wrong; I do not see the Mall of America, or MOA for the locals, as any kind of Taj Mahal of Joy. I’m not crazy about shopping, and even if I were, going there just to buy things would barely be worth the opportunity cost, if at all. MOA is more of a destination itself, a place you go to intending to spend time, and often if you have out of town visitors who haven’t seen the place dozens of times and would still be impressed by it.
Walking laps to cover all four levels would be fairly strenuous; trust me, I’ve done it before. There are over five hundred places to spend your money there. Each one of those businesses was opened with a specific target audience in mind, so somehow they are all meant to appeal to a specific type of potential joy. Do you have a need for imported Alpaca clothing? Prefer high-end electronics? Looking to turn a day of crayon shopping into a full-fledged experience? Shop for dog-exclusive gourmet products? Have you read “The Lion, the Witch, and The Wardrobe” enough times to be curious about what exactly is so great about turkish delight it would make Edmund sell out his brother and sisters? The good folk at MOA have got you covered.
So why start a Joy Pursuit there? The way I see it, almost every imaginable interest is being addressed in one of those more than five hundred businesses. I think it would make perfect sense to walk past every store, kiosk, restaurant, or amusement found there and mentally list the things that caught your attention, then afterward look back over the list and think over why each item was included. Somewhere on that list could be the beginnings of a new interest, or hobby, or joy. If I make my way out to MOA this summer, I might just do that. It could lead to some discoveries about myself I may not have otherwise ever realized.
Or, maybe I’ll just adopt a dog.
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