If you’ve spent any time here at The Quiet Muse, you’ve probably noticed a question that quietly finds its way into many of my reflections.
What have I been doing for joy?
It’s more than the subtitle on my home page. It’s the quiet thread that ties these essays together.
That question was first asked by my mother many years ago, and over time I’ve realized she wasn’t simply asking whether I was having fun. She was asking whether I was tending to my own life.
Lately, that question has been finding me again.
Not because life has suddenly become easier. My responsibilities haven’t disappeared. My daughter’s upcoming heart surgery is still ahead of us. My husband’s health challenges remain. The everyday demands of life are still very much present.
What’s changing is me.
Recently, I looked in the mirror wearing my bathing suit. Surprisingly, I wasn’t discouraged by what I saw. I accepted where I am.
But I also knew something else.
I can do better.
Not for vanity’s sake.
Not because I need to become someone different, but because the last few years have taken a toll on me—emotionally, physically, and mentally.
For years, I’ve studied nutrition for other people.
My bookshelves are filled with books about healthy eating. Keto. Paleo. Mediterranean. Books by Dr. William Li. I was always searching for something that might help my daughter or support my husband.
Without realizing it, I was learning everything for everyone else.
Somewhere along the way, I forgot that I could apply that same knowledge to myself.
This week, something shifted.
I skipped my daily Starbucks habit.
I went swimming.
I made hummus and healthy snacks.
I drank green tea instead of grabbing something quick.
None of those choices are remarkable on their own.
There’s a metaphor I’ve shared with people over the years.
When you’re driving and your check engine light comes on, you don’t ignore it forever. You call the repair shop. You schedule an appointment. You find out what’s going on before a small problem becomes a much bigger one.
So why do we ignore our own warning lights?
Fatigue.
Stress.
Brain fog.
Constant worry.
A quiet feeling that we’ve somehow lost ourselves along the way.
Those are our check engine lights.
The problem is, many of us become so accustomed to living with them that we forget they’re trying to tell us something.
Maybe they’re not telling us we’re broken.
Maybe they’re simply asking us to pay attention.
As I stood beside the pool this morning, another memory surfaced.
When I was a teenager, we had a swimming pool and nearly eleven acres to care for. After finishing my chores, I’d put on my bathing suit and stretch out beside the pool.
Before long, my mother would open the kitchen window and call across the yard,
“Heather! You can get just as much sun vacuuming the pool as you can laying beside it!”
She wasn’t wrong.
That was simply part of life in our family.
Today, as I vacuumed my own pool, I found myself smiling at that memory.
This time, though, I wasn’t vacuuming the pool because I felt guilty for lounging.
I was doing it because I felt good.
There’s a difference.
As I watched the leaves and debris disappear, another thought came to me.
A swimming pool doesn’t stay clear because you clean it once.
It stays clear because you care for it consistently.
Our bodies aren’t much different.
Neither are our minds.
One healthy breakfast.
One swim.
One skipped Starbucks.
One good night’s sleep.
One thoughtful conversation.
One small decision after another.
Little by little, the water clears.
Maybe joy works the same way.
It isn’t always found in grand adventures or life-changing moments.
Sometimes it’s found in making fish tacos for dinner.
Sometimes it’s swimming a few laps.
Sometimes it’s writing a story that’s been waiting to be told.
Sometimes it’s simply realizing that your mind feels clear again.
I’ve come to believe that joy isn’t something we stumble upon.
It’s something we nurture.
Perhaps that’s what The Quiet Muse has been about all along.
Not finding joy all at once, but learning to notice it again.
One ordinary moment at a time.
One story at a time.
One question at a time.
What have I been doing for joy?