Joy

“Thank you for waiting so patiently,” she chirps sincerely to the woman in line in front of me, finally returning to her station behind the counter.  My guilt nestles in like a pit in my stomach.  This noble woman in front of me stands stoically, listens wordlessly to me when, not a minute earlier, I wonder out loud with much annoyance, “Does anyone work here?”

It’s so unusual for me to open my mouth in these situations. I can’t stand it when other people do it. I try hard to muster compassion, and when I can’t, I pride myself on keeping my mouth shut no matter what mean spirited thoughts threaten to squash the sugar plums dancing in my head. I can’t help myself in this moment, and regret it almost immediately.

While the transaction ahead of me takes place I prepare myself, ready to admit wholeheartedly when I am thanked for my patience that I hadn’t exhibited any at all.  I think about what in this situation is frustrating me.  There are two cashiers, yet it isn’t readily apparent there are two lines, as towers of grab and go bling hide completely my compatriots beside me. It seems silly to me that my dander is up.  I’m not in hurry.  I don’t need to be anywhere else.  The load I am carrying isn’t heavy.  This year’s green Christmas means I’m not sweating beneath a heavy parka. I actually ate before I shopped. And I’m finding the gifts I came out seeking.  Why do I choose an outburst of selfish frustration instead of understanding the obvious pressures of a holiday store clerk?

I name my Christmastime blogs with words that are associated with the holiday season. It is rare to hear glisten, coursers, tidings, wassail, or swaddle in the vernacular of ordinary time.  It surprises me when joy pops into my head as a Christmas word. We can’t seem to find enough of it.

Joy is a choice that can be difficult to see.  It can seem like we live in a world with nothing but problems; that we live our individual lives in constant turmoil.  We’re far more comfortable complaining about what is not right, admonishing ourselves for what we don’t do, then we ever are voicing gratitude for what’s great in our lives and patting ourselves on the back for the good we do. We’re programmed to focus on fixing what is not right and to downplay what is right. We wrap ourselves in an angry story written in isolation, a yarn wound so tightly from our own vantage point that we can’t open up to any other perspective.

To me, the path to seeing joy as a choice and ultimately being capable of choosing it lies not just in a willingness to seek understanding, but in a tenacious commitment to attain understanding, to broaden our purview. And then to forgive both ourselves and our loved ones for the blindness and brokenness inherent in all of us.

Had I thought a minute about what it might feel like to be the customer getting excellent service from a cashier so willing to leave her post and search the stockroom for a coveted gift, I’m sure I would have felt quite differently. My inability to keep my disparaging thoughts to myself while shopping is my humanity making itself visible, much to my chagrin.

I believe we are constantly in repair.  Waiting to choose joy until we’ve got it all together is not an option.  The question isn’t how do we solve all of our problems and live a flawless life, it is how do we accept our humanity and that of those around us, so that joy can be uncovered in the mess.