There’s a difference between Happiness and Joy.
Let me explain.
[tweetshare tweet=”Happiness, comes and goes. It’s based on circumstances. And when it leaves, it makes room for sadness. But let me tell you about feeling undeniable joy.” username=”myadventuresnow”]
Cue 11 p.m. in our New York City apartment.
My roommates are cooking and baking, and I’m in my room decorating. I turn on some music; I’m hanging up pictures.
I sit down at my desk, and I write and draw, as I hear my roommates cracking up over cooking mishaps.
I turn the music up and delve into my journal writing; Less than 30 minutes into my quiet time, my roommate sends me a text:
Your wine looks lonely out here.
[tweetshare tweet=”There’s something about people enjoying your presence; but there is truly something when people can feel your absence.” username=”myadventuresnow”]
I can’t help but laugh over her text message and invitation, because it’s a brilliant way to draw me back into the kitchen, and it’s also a thoughtful invite.
There’s something more loving, more genuine, simply to be missed and remembered. I appreciated her text and I quickly wrapped up so I could join their cooking extravaganza.
I pull out some “boozy little chocolate truffles” from Trader Joe’s so we can all taste the different flavors together. It’s kind of fun, we wade through Prosecco, London Gin, Navy Rum, and Scotch Whiskey.
I don’t mean to totally cue Tom Hanks; but I can’t resist.
My mom always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.
— Forrest Gump, Castaway
We have an informal taste test, pretending we’re food critics. It’s sort of hilarious. We half take it seriously, until we just dive into the chocolates with no restraint.
We decide the Prosecco is the most subtle chocolate, while the London Gin is oddly our household favorite because of the hints of lemon. There’s also something about engaging all the senses that makes me feel so alive.
It’s a bit of joy (not happiness) trickling in.
Eventually, my roommates resume baking and cooking in our kitchen.
One roommate makes her infamous “canelés bourdelais,” which are small French pastries. They have a soft and tender custard center and a dark, thick caramelized crust.
The recipe is pretty intricate.
We (unintentionally) set off multiple smoke alarms. It wasn’t because anything was smoking, it was more because there was so much fluctuation of heat, and those things are incredible sensitive in our apartment.
Every time the alarm blares, we jump into our perfected drill.
Two people sprint down the hallway as the smoke alarms screech, one person carrying a bar stool. One person hops on the chair, and since I’m the tallest in the home, it’s usually me. I do this while my roommate holds the chair steady below.
It’s teamwork we know well.
I’m not kidding when I say the smoke alarms went off more than five times, so we have the run-and-jump down to a perfect art.
But once the baking is done, we sit on the couch and just enjoy the smell. The whole house is warm and smells sweet. We’re embracing more senses. We have more wine, and turn on Planet Earth; it plays in the background, and once in a while an animal catches our attention.
We begin eating the canelés bourdelais, and it’s delicious. The recipe is a huge success; it’s enjoyable to have the chance to try some new food.
We exchange travel stories, which is apropos — especially with this blog.
But instead of adventures, we talk about animal and bug mishaps while traveling. A gnarly topic, though an entertaining one.
My roommate talks about a time where she had fire ants all over her; I talk about the poisonous centipedes and flying cockroaches in Hawaii.
It’s sort of hilarious but gross conversation. We’re all half yelling, “Ew, gross!” or laughing. And we laughed a lot. The joy builds.
Somehow we transition to phobias; I have trypophobia which an aversion to the sight of irregular patterns or clusters of small holes, or bumps. I know, it’s weird. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, I get chills and make a face.
The roommates try to dissect (pun) where this fear comes from.
They read it’s some evolutionary thing to create such a disgust that people with trypophobia stay away from poisonous plants or creatures with the cluster of small holes and bumps. The roommates hold up various pictures to see which ones I get a reaction to.
Then, it becomes a hilarious social experiment, which for some reason, I participate in as a subject. We aren’t able to establish a pattern (neither have scientists, really) except some pictures look okay and some make me want to faint. Certain lotus flower seeds make me shiver.
We go along with the night sharing these funny stories and random experiences. It’s a quiet bonding in the house, some shared understanding and a willingness to trade stories.
Time passes. And here’s where joy comes in.
We look at the clock and it’s 2:43 a.m. — as in we all should have been in bed hours ago; more than four hours have slipped by since our cooking began. That’s half a workday for the 9 a.m. – 5 p.m. jobs, but it just doesn’t feel that way. At all.
There’s a startled reaction when we realize we need to clean up and go to sleep.
But here’s where it comes.
My roommate looks up and say, “I’m not even sure why I forgot time exists.”
[tweetshare tweet=”It’s in that moment that I define joy, for myself.” username=”myadventuresnow”]
I think about the book I’m still wading through, The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. It’s a similar concept.
Psychology research says the difference between joy and happiness is this:
Happiness tends to be externally triggered and is based on other people, things, places, thoughts and events; joy is consistent and is cultivated internally. It comes when you make peace with who you are, why you are and how you are.
I’d actually expand on that definition.
I feel ecstatic, happy, and excited whenever I get to travel. That’s for sure.
During my travels, moments where I’m completely present, when time seems to stop, and when I am grateful and notice all details around me, that’s joy.
I can be sad based on external circumstances, and yet, I can still feel joy inside.
When I’m in alignment with who I want to be, when I’m surrounded by blessings, when I savor life with all my senses, that’s joy. I see every little thing around me, with no judgement. And I feel joyful. So joyful.
It’s one of the reasons I love to travel, and yet I know now, I can recreate this feeling wherever I am — even in a small New York City kitchen, where friends sip wine as fire alarms blare. Joy is there too.
The adventures continue,
