What does it mean for joy to exist as a creative process?
Recently I’ve come to believe that joy doesn’t just happen. We create it, at least in some part. Through the people we surround ourselves with; by making a decision that serves us, rather than defaulting to the option we feel indebted to; when we both honor and prioritize our needs and desires.
When I attempt to distill this idea down to its most simplistic, the more I begin to believe joy manifests as a series of quick, tiny flashes where at once, we’re presented with a seemingly insignificant but wholly compounding fork in the road.
You have option one. Typically, this is the choice that stems from an ineffable place deep in our bones. The one we aren’t quite sure where it came from or how it got there, but something about it feels true, warm, and right.
Usually then, a second option enters the frame. This one is often formed from past experience and a whole lot of ego. Peppered with anxiety and doubt, this option comes packed with stories and “shoulds”.
Historically, we default to the second, for this is the alternative we can justify after we toss it over time and time again through the manmade filters of our mind. The second feels safe, responsible, less selfish.
I like to believe the beauty—the joy—actually emerges when we have the courage to leap into something closer to the first. Don’t give yourself too long to think about it, just act. You can trust yourself. Easier said than done, I know. But I can’t help but think joy exists somewhere on the other side of choosing our truth—what’s innate, what’s instinctual, what’s present without us having to earn it.
Admittedly, I’m new to this whole process of “choosing my truth”. For far too long, I navigated the world as the “clever girl”. The girl who was always two steps ahead. The one who, with sleight of hand, could divert the attention away from herself—her flaws, her insecurities, her doubts—and draw the spotlight back to you. It took me a long time to realize that those tactics and tricks were slowly deafening my ability to know myself, and thus, experience true joy.
I know better now. And because I do I have been ultra-intentional about the seeds of joy I’m cultivating. I can sense I’m at the very beginning stages of new adventure. Of course, I don’t have the entire journey mapped out. I’m not even 100% sure where it is I’m voyaging. But the promise of new horizons beckons to me, and for the first time in a very long time, I am heeding the call.
So, what’s a girl to do with the promise of new adventure and no real information on how to get there? That’s where I think joy comes in.
For the longest time, I felt this pull back home to myself. Questions would find me by way of a well-meaning friend or a tarot card or a crushing defeat. Questions like: Sure Tiana, you’ve built a business and it’s seen success, but how do you actually want to be spending your time? Are you here because you want to be or because you feel you owe someone or something your presence? Questions like: What do you even like to do? Whose preferences and tastes are these because we sure as hell don’t recognize them? Questions like: Something’s gotta give and you’re the only one that can make the space, so what’s it going to be?
One day, I just grew weary of trying to solution my way out of everything. I no longer wanted to be clever; I wanted to be happy. So I stopped doing the “right” thing, and started doing what felt true. In essence, I started creating my joy. Day by day. One small, conscious choice after another. I started using that as my guiding light, rather than worrying about meeting everyone else’s expectations.
I wish I could say this was some grand transformation, but really, it happened (and continues to happen) through micro-decisions in favor of my well-being. I don’t always choose myself. There are moments when the anxiety and guilt consume me, and it seems much easier to do what the world would deem appropriate. But, the more decisions I make in my favor, the more spacious and light I feel. This looks differently. day to day, but here are a few tangible choices I’ve made recently to paint a fuller picture:
I set a window of availability: I announced to the entire TGC team on Slack that moving forward, I would only be online for two hours a day. The “responsible” part of me panicked, screaming that no “real business owner” would step away from her duties that long (my ego wants to prove to you, dear reader, that I do in fact work more than two hours a day). However, the truer side of me knew I was craving more space, levity, and room for the good to pour in. So I gave it to myself.
I put an end to some of the stories I kept repeating to myself and others: I’m not necessarily talking about big, self-limiting beliefs here, although I think I’m breaking free of some of those too. The narrative that comes to mind is: “I’m not good at cooking.” One day, a core memory came to me of late-night kitchen hangs with my dad and instead of telling myself the same story, I pivoted remembering: “I love to cook. Where did I ever pick up that I wasn’t good at it? Why did I ever stop?” I started going to the farmer’s market every Saturday. I allow myself time to mosey from booth to booth and purchase fresh produce that moves me. Then I crack open two of my favorite cookbooks (both by Alison Roman) or scan the Wiley archives, and I’m making my way through recipes and around the kitchen once again. It’s a process that soothes, inspires, and energizes me.
I choose to work outside sometimes: Another story I always told myself was that I was not an outdoorsy girl. Mostly because I hate bugs (I gruesomely killed a caterpillar when I was in the first grade and sometimes fantasize I have some karmic debt to pay because of it). As I’ve grown older and with more of an appreciation for all living things, I’ve learned to relish my time in wide, open spaces with plenty of access to fresh air and sunlight. I’ll pack up Pete, a blanket, my laptop and journal and set up camp at a local park down the street from our house for hours. I always return more inspired than when I left.
I read more fiction: Clever girls read clever self-help books to help them become more clever. And while I still adore a non-fiction banger (Currently, it’s Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed), I’ve been allowing myself to get lost in more stories, even if they’re made up, and even if it isn’t the “responsible, growth-focused” thing to do. My current read: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles.
I take my time to thoroughly look over a menu: I’ve discovered I need space to make decisions that feel aligned with my soul, and no one can give that to me, but me. Whether it’s because everyone’s chatting or I feel guilty for taking “too much time”, historically I’ve rushed to make a decision in a setting like a restaurant. Now, I try to give myself as much space as necessary to find the dish that makes my heart and stomach flutter with excitement by offering a polite, “Let me just take a moment to see what looks good!”
I’ve joined Masterclass: Why is it we stop learning new things the second we don’t see promise of success? Masterclass is my way to keep filling my world with people and knowledge and perspectives that inspire me. I’m starting with Tyler Mitchell, and already love his approach on storytelling through his preferred medium of photography.
I’ve stopped rolling up my window and turning down my music: I don’t know about you, but I get so embarrassed by my music selection. So much so, that I’ll turn down whatever’s playing at a red light. Recently I thought to myself, “I don’t know the people around, so why am I trying so hard to paint such a manicured portrait of myself to them?” I want to blast Taylor Swift or old Mariah Carey or whatever it is with pride, so I’ve stopped lowering the music.
I’ve entertained the idea of local writing workshops and adult choirs: Just for fun. Just to make little Tiana proud. I haven’t pulled the trigger just yet, but I see stronger newsletters and tantalizing harmonies in my future.
I published a TikTok even when I felt riddled with self-doubt: Don’t get me wrong, it sat in my drafts for three days, but I felt called to share this random little thought, and was pleasantly surprised to see it validated through the influx of comments with people saying they felt the same. If you have something to say, share it! The world deserves to hear.
I’ve been following signs: It could be a red cardinal in my yard or a dragonfly whizzing around my car or a grasshopper on my front door. Instead of chalking it up to coincidence, I’m choosing to believe these tiny flashes of delight are there for my reassurance, rather than some meaningless existence. No one has to know, but me.
I’ve started using the phrase “Can I give you an answer by…?”: As a recovering people-pleaser, each time someone asks something of me, be it a coffee date, helpful piece of advice, or anything in between, I feel my entire self-worth hinges on giving them the “correct” response. Too often, I forgo the reply that feels most energizing or peaceful to me, in order not to “rock the boat”. See: #5 with the note on needing space. This is a friendly way to align expectations for the other party and make sure I come to a resolution that feels right for me, too,
I exercise regularly and try not to punish myself for allowing time for self-care: Pilates or a quick run + taking a few extra moments to tongue-scrape or dry-brush or add a few extra steps to my skincare routine makes me feel good, and feeling good is important to the creation of my joy. No longer will I deny myself such “luxuries” because I feel guilty.
I give generously: I will not live in fear there isn’t enough. I want to contribute to the abundance of other people’s lives. Whether that’s selecting the max option for tipping on an iPad or paying fair wages, when I consciously give, I create more joy in the world as a whole.
I have the courage to have hard conversations: I choose to be an advocate for myself and my needs, even when it means potentially uncomfortable situations. If other people love and respect me the way they say, I know they will understand.
I thrift: It gives me the same dopamine hit as buying something new and it’s more sustainable for the planet. Plus, there’s something extra gratifying about finding something unexpectedly good hidden beneath a mound of discarded rubble.
I genuinely want to know: In what ways are you creating joy?
Let’s allow this space to be a forum of ideas in the comments below. Here’s to joy as an act of creation, and the power to create more of it.