Joy is Deliberate...
What If Joy Wasn’t Just a Surprise?
April was full of tiny curveballs—the good kind. A fruit stand in New York that stopped me in my tracks with its beauty. My middle daughter's sense of humor. Huge bubbles in Central Park. The deep feeling of belonging over sips of tea and bell hooks' "All About Love." The full-body chills I got on a breezy night walk in Brooklyn because I was so happy to be back there. Crying on my mat at Tangerine Yoga on Schermerhorn Street—because I know a reckoning is coming—clarity, too.
This month, for me, has been the magic of unexpected joy. I am not the same. April changed me. Woke me up. Called me in and said, sit down and see me. Stay and be with me. My joy sneaks in and reminds me every single day that it doesn't need permission to enter.
Sometimes, it slips through the cracks and softens a rough day. Sometimes, it reminds you of who you are, what you want—or what you no longer do.
Joy has become a north star since I started this practice—and I've found myself being deeply protective of it. I won't let anyone yuck my yum with their energy, hurt my feelings with their indifference, or steal my joy with their misery. I've done that for far too long in this life.
Something in me has become inflexible when it comes to keeping my joy close and safe.
I've stopped expending energy in places that drain me—"friendships," work, spaces. If my joy is compromised, it's a hard no this season.
I hope you've been having deep moments of clarity in your life, too. Even more, I hope you've been letting them count—letting your spots of joy settle into your bones and remind you of what’s real, true, and necessary for you this season.
Because now, as May greets us, I want to invite you into something different. Still joy—but steadier. More intentional. It's a bit less about surprise and a bit more about design.
What would it feel like to stop waiting on joy and start making room for it?
We’re not turning away from the unexpected. We’re simply adding structure beneath the softness. Consider it like setting the table—even if you’re unsure who’s showing up.
Joy can be spontaneous and it can be strategic.
This is where Deliberate Joy comes in. Not performative. Not curated. Just honest, grounding, soul-nourishing moments that refill your cup—because you made space for them—because you chose them on purpose.
We already schedule so much—meetings, errands, and care for everyone else. What would change if you scheduled your joy, too?
Maybe it’s ten minutes alone with a warm drink.
Maybe it’s texting someone who actually sees you.
Maybe it’s turning your phone off for an hour and letting the world wait.
Maybe it's making space for aligned relationships, environments, and things more intentionally.
This month, practice noticing who adds ease to your days—and who leaves you depleted. Allow May to be a soft space for you to land in with both feet and an open heart. Vow that this new month will be one where you untether from forcing closeness, begging for reciprocity, and chasing energy that won’t [or can’t] meet you on the path this season.
Your joy is too sacred to keep offering to people who don’t know how to hold it.
Let that be the shift. Let that be the soft boundary that protects your peace.
You’re not selfish for choosing joy. You’re not cold for pulling away from what depletes.
You’re simply learning how to honor yourself—and that is something to celebrate. So here’s to May. A month of deliberate joy. Of honest company. Of showing up for the version of you that’s no longer willing to shrink just to be accepted.
I am in a season of building a joy that lasts—a season that is rich and fruitful and nourishing.
So here's what I'm carrying into May:
Joy can be planned without being performative.
Boundaries are allowed to be loving.
I can build softness into my days on purpose.
I don't have to earn ease—I can choose it.
Let's keep joy spotting, But let's also build practices that make joy feel less like luck and more like a rhythm we return to—again and again.
We're not chasing joy. We're making room for it.
3 Simple Ways to Practice Deliberate Joy
Make joy a non-negotiable on your calendar.
Even just ten minutes a day can make a difference. Block time for things that fill you up—watering your plants, journaling, listening to music you loved in high school. If it brings you back to yourself, it's worth the time.
Create your "Joy Menu."
Write a list of small things that spark joy. Keep it on your desk, fridge, or notes app. When life feels heavy or routine, pull from your menu. Joy doesn't have to be a surprise—you can choose it with intention.
Journal what you notice.
Keep your joy-spotting journal nearby and jot down 1–3 things a day that feel like joy. Don't overthink it: A kind word, A favorite song, A moment of clarity. What you pay attention to grows—let that be joy.
Tools to Support Your Joy Practice
Weekly Joy Planner: At the start of each week, choose one joyful activity per day. Keep it light, doable, and something just for you.
Prompt Yourself:
What kind of joy do I need more of this week—restful, playful, creative, spiritual?
What made me smile unexpectedly today?
How can I offer myself a soft moment tomorrow?
Joy Jar: Write your favorite small joys on slips of paper and pull one when you need a pick-me-up.
Planning for joy doesn't make it less magical. To me, it makes it more sustainable.
The more we practice, the more fluent we become in joy's language. And in a world that often asks us to hustle, shrink, or endure—choosing joy becomes a radical, healing act.
Joy isn't just something that happens to us. It's something we're allowed to cultivate.
Gentle Reminder: You are worthy of joy that is intentional, regular, and yours.
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Alex, thank you so much for introducing us to joy journaling. I started the year with many losses, sudden shifts, and rugs dragged—i mean ripped—out from under my feet. I kept faith in my future because ever since I started healing and trusting myself, you reminded us to lean into ourselves, into the joy that is already available, and the joy we get to choose with intention.
I am so grateful to look back this month and see that the joy I thought I lost with painful breakups and sudden endings was actually making room for joy so safe and aligned that it surprises me it even exists. Thank you for inspiring us to take a leap and choose people who choose us, and to choose ourselves and our joy.
This post is achingly beautiful. It leaves us longing to create joy, always, with mindfulness and clarity and optimism. Thank you for your words, the stunning images, and and the life-affirming message.