ON FINDING JOY IN OUR TIMES
and creating a daily practice to live into it
joy /joi/, noun: a feeling of great happiness and delight (The Dictionary Project)
Call me an optimist.
I believe that despite the daily trauma, breakdown and woes our world offers up on the daily, there is joy to be found in life. So instead of starting off with a dive into to-dos, or the barrage of bad news, this week, I decided to celebrate with a list of life’s joys.
Tapping into that joy—and sharing it in Substack Notes—has helped me transform my mindset from dread to appreciation. A practice that proves to help me reframe my outlook.
A side benefit: sharing it with others to spread the joy is a newfound delight. I hope it might also inspire you to ponder: What’s your joy?
Herewith, a musing crafted out of my #1 reasons for joy from this week.
Finding my JOY: July 13-19, 2025
morning coffee. I am no barista; I cheat with my nespresso and a milk frother. Even so, I decide to be more intentional in choosing the flavor, adding fresh filtered water, and selecting the intensity to reflect how well I slept and what my schedule holds for the day. I inhale the aroma and sip slowly before glancing at my phone and computer.
sun peeking out after a hard rain. It’s been that kind of July: steamy, oppressive, unrelenting heat. Afternoon thunderstorms. Daisy dog refusing a walk (and how can I blame her?). Until out from the clouds I see the sun saluting, as welcome as any yoga practice. Which reminds me: doing a yoga sun salutation brings new joy anytime the spirit—and body—may want stirring. (Note to self: not a to-do, but a to-remember).
water swells and great falls. On a recent hike with my younger son and his wife, and my mini-Labradoodles Olive and Daisy at Great Falls National Park, we scramble over rock and across mud swamp at the ebb of recent torrential rains (which have returned—see above). Climbing a rocky outcrop, a high point overlooking the rapids of the Potomac, Daisy poses vigilantly to warn us that, down below, a fast-moving river now overflows its banks. And that we will be passing that way on our hike back to the car.
working on a new poem. “Wire and Root” (working title) is a poetic meditation on the tension between creative risk and ancestral grounding, an artist’s high-wire act fueled not by spectacle alone, but by deep, unseen networks of memory, lineage, and story. It is meant to celebrate the courage to leap, knowing one is held by the past, and to rise, rooted in remembrance. Does the title fit this tightrope in verse? Still noodling on it.
a doe and her fawns crossing my path. My home and my neighborhood feel far removed from the tumult of the city just down the road. Deer, bunnies galore, a den of red foxes with their litter inside—it’s almost like being in the Garden of Eden. Our wild neighbors are multiplying. We’ve managed a symbiosis; the deer gaze at me, unafraid. I capture a video of three babies, their spots still on, following their mothers. Adolescent fawns, young bucks, their antlers just beginning to sprout, graze nearby.
making good trouble, necessary trouble. On the fifth anniversary of civil rights icon John Lewis’s death, I join dozens of concerned citizens and friends to celebrate his legacy. We populate a bridge over the Washington Beltway at the afternoon rush hour, carrying signs, passing out water to mitigate the effects of a blazing sun bearing down. Horns honk in joyous cacophony: they are with us, We the People! A reporter from the Washington Post asks me: What civil rights are you here in protest for today? I am here for my young granddaughters, I reply. That they may have all the rights to health and protection that their mothers and grandmothers have enjoyed. And better.
writing, writing, writing. I have much remembering to do. And nothing else on the calendar. A rare and luxurious day to devote to this business of time traveling, storytelling, and releasing memory. A moment I am relishing. Satisfying, especially as next week I enter the portal towards a new season in this annual spin around the sun.
It is a good time for reflection. And in celebrating that, I find much reason for joy!
Finding that balance is so important, Kay! Loving your activism too
Lovely! I'm so glad you're making good trouble, Robin. Best wishes to you with your writing!