JOY IS A CHOICE

(Yeah, I'm delaying talking about DVC again. Maybe this coming week.)

I've been coping with depression and frustration and procrastination for quite a while. (No? Really?) I have been getting some things done in spite of it, but there's been an underlying feeling of the Blues. Wondering if I'll ever recapture the joy of writing and creativity (instead of just a mild satisfaction). Wondering if I'll ever get out of the "make do" pattern my life seems to have settled in. Sure, it's good to have a regular job that keeps a roof over my head, to have an income that is sufficient for my needs. But it's a life that doesn't really nurture my dreams, at least not right now. So, in spite of "getting things done", there's been a dragging sense to my life.

A couple of weeks ago, I recalled a motivational speaker at a program several years ago. The gist of his message was that "happiness" is a feeling, that happens, that is tied to circumstances. But Joy is a choice we make in response to events. An attitude. Remembering this, I thought "Oh, what the heck. What do I have to lose in trying this?"

So I started the day, reminding myself as I drove to work that "joy is a choice". And the day went okay. That evening, I had an appointement with my hairdresser (needed a hair cut at least before Easter), and got back to my neighborhood about 8. Now this is just about the worst time to return to my neighborhood because everyone's home from work and if they've got company, all the company has arrived as well. Usually, nobody's leaving until about 10:30 at best. So I circled round. And round. And round. At 20 minutes, I usually start stressing, but this evening I passed that mark feeling okay. However, at 33 minutes, the stress patterns started asserting themselves and I could feel my tear ducts cranking into action.

But I reminded myself "Joy is a choice." I was going to stick with that resolution. So I turned back onto my own street and cruised slowly up the block toward my building, looking for a spot. In times past, when I've made this sort of attitude shift, I've come round the corner once more and found that a spot had opened up. But this time? Nope. I got to the corner nearest my building and still nothing was available. I paused the car for a moment, trying to consider which way to go next, to look for a spot.

As I sat there, this guy walked toward my car and motioned for me to lower my window. I did so. "Follow me," he said. "You can have my spot." I thanked him profusely.

I got myself turned around and back down half a block. He got into his SUV and pulled out. And I finally got parked, not too far from my apartment.

I was elated. Not just at finally having a parking spot. I had to laugh. I have always acknowledged God's grace when I get good parking when I come home. So it's not as if I'd have overlooked it on this occasion. But it was as if God wanted to make a special point about the whole "Joy is a choice" business. Never, in all the years that I've lived in the neighborhood and spent long stretches circling round and round, never as anyone come directly to me to give me their parking spot. A divine neon sign: "Hey girl! This is the way I want you to handle everything!"

Okay. I got the point.

A good thing too, since this week, I got some disappointing news on the professional front. I've had a manuscript under consideration with a publisher since January, and the editor had been very enthusiastic about it. But this week, he had to inform me that their New York office passed on everything he'd submitted -- just for budgetary reasons. Nothing to do with my work itself. I really liked him and his boss, so this was a disappointment in several ways. But he had added that he's going to keep the MS with him, and if he encounters another editor and/or agent who might be able to help get it into print he'd pass it on. That's beyond his call of duty, so it was a nice grace note to the disappointment.

But because I'd already settled into the "joy is a choice" pattern, this setback didn't depress me the way it would have weeks earlier. It didn't even feed the procratination beast. I thanked him for the enthusiasm he'd already shown, and asked if I could mention directly him when I pitch elsewhere. Which he was fine with. Already, I'm preparing a new submission to another publishing house, retuning the usual pitch. Just moving on. (After all, it's a project that I've always felt had God's hand upon it, so I know it will reach print eventually.)

I've also started getting into the actual writing of a new script, and it's moving nicely. I'm so jazzed by it.

So I have to laugh at myself and wonder why we make things so hard on ourselves. Is it just because God is invisible to us? Is it that there is no material object to hold on to, to help us through these times? Our fears and our anxieties surface, poisoning our delights and desires and dreams. And we let it happen, as if it's the inevitable nature of life. It's "realistic" to respond to life that way. Am I just being a "cock-eyed optimist"? Possibly. But the way I've felt the last couple of weeks, since making this shift in attitude, is so much more pleasant than where I was before. Surely it has to be healthier than giving stress power over my life.

"Immortal, Invisible, God only wise, in light inaccessible, hid from our eyes." Our Lord is all these things, and yet He is also right there by our sides. He's waiting for us to open our hearts, so He can walk up and point out the spot that will satisfy our need, or our desires.