What does joy want if not more joy?

We feel like it’s egotistical to share our happiness, when in fact it’s the ego that causes you to share your pain - misery wants company, but what does joy want if not more joy?

I wonder sometimes why I make writing such a big chore in my mind. Like who said I could only write about healing and grief and unpacking and love and relationships and just all the other heavy self awareness things that many people don’t even want to sit with themselves and dissect?

Why can’t I just write about my day? About the conversations I have with friends? About the cute, pretty, and serendipitous moments that I stumble into. About my travels and life in Toronto, about the potentiality of a great move, and becoming a woman of rest, femininity, and leisure. About joy. 

I desire to share all parts of me through this craft that I am choosing to deliberately nurture and grow. I desire to explore and share the simple things. I pray that you'll stay for the ride.

In July, I met with my good friend to spend some time with him for his birthday. He trusted his gut and we sauntered into a vegan market cafe of sorts that delighted and charmed us so much so that we stayed past the lights turning off. It was as if time no longer existed in this small, magical corner of the city.

Allwood Market & Cafe in Toronto. photos taken by me.

With nearly floor to ceiling windows, white walls, and light cascading through a space that felt light and airy, you could explore throughout and find an assortment of artistic pieces, crystals and bracelets, grand art on the walls, a few stray eclectic pieces of clothing hanging for sale, vinyl records displayed throughout, and much more to touch, smell and marvel at.

We were greeted upon entry by the wonderful owner and staff that engaged us in intriguing conversation and seduced us with sounds by Bob Marley, Sade and Quarteto Em Cy.

As the music vibrated through the space, we filled our bellies with ackee and palm heart “saltfish” and curry chickpeas and rice and peas, followed by non alcoholic champagne to toast my friend's birthday. 

the yummy food. photos taken by me.

You know when you eat something so good that you’re damn near giddy? I haven’t had that feeling in a long time. When you’re dancing, humming, eating and savouring every last bite.

I felt the serotonin rise up inside of me as I grinned from ear to ear - I couldn’t stop effin’ smiling. I spent 3 hours in this space simply smiling. 

And I felt happy. 

I don’t know if this was the effects of the food, or the company, the ambience or the weather - or maybe a combination of it all - but my senses were on fire with unbridled joy and simple bliss.

It made me think, why don’t we share our joyful moments? Why is it so easy to share our grievances, our pains, our challenges, to vent about our stressors, but difficult to embrace and share our successes, our rewards, our glee?

We feel like it’s egotistical or bragging to share our happiness, when in fact it’s the ego that causes you to share your pain - misery wants company, but what does joy want if not more joy?

I’ve been yearning for something to celebrate. The last few months have felt like a stalemate with hardships of finances and sickness looming over our heads, making it feel like we aren’t deserving of celebrating or experiencing joyful moments. I’ve also been overrun with guilt, recognizing that I can no longer produce work in the way that I use to and must fall back and allow my partner to take the reigns financially. This, in itself, makes me feel undeserving of joy. 

My joy always came as a result of how much I could produce: how much time I had put in, how much sacrifice I had given, how much money I had made, and how happy others were around me. My sense of worth became tied to my ability to provide—to contribute, especially in my career and my relationships with family and friends.

But lately, I've been asking myself—could I find joy in just existing? Would that be celebrated or envied? Or would I feel too shy to share this joy for fear of it being taken away by a harsh word or criticism? Could joy be something intrinsic, something I could celebrate even as the roles I’ve been used to filling begin to crumble beneath me? Could joy exist in just being?

Maybe joy isn't something we wait for. Maybe it's always here, quietly asking to be seen.

Think about the last time you felt unbridled joy. What were you doing, and who were you with? What made that moment special?

Do you feel hesitant to share your joyful experiences with others? How do you think sharing joy with others affects your relationships?

I love you,

Til next time,

Tash xo

At the end of our evening at Allwood, the Owner gave us a crate of vinyls and told us to pick a record blindly and whatever record we chose would be our ‘fortune cookie’ so to speak - the album track titles would be our affirmation. I pulled out this one “Let Me Be Good to You”.

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