The Ache of Joy
Why we must let it in anyway
Listen to the essay below:
There are moments when joy feels like a betrayal.
You’re laughing with someone new, and suddenly you remember who’s no longer here to laugh with you. You're holding a warm cup of tea on a quiet morning, and the peace makes your chest tighten—not from stress, but from the ache of how rare this type of stillness has become. Joy catches us off guard like that. It arrives softly into our orbit—and somehow, it can also break our hearts wide open on its descent.
I used to think joy was simple. A good day. A reason to celebrate. Something extra that floated in when everything else was working. But the older I get, the more I understand that joy often arrives in spite of things, not because of them. It comes quietly in the middle of grief. It sneaks into heavy seasons. And sometimes, it shows up when we least feel like we deserve it.
That's what makes it so tender, so disarming.
Joy reminds us of what we still long for. It brushes up against the parts of us that are still healing and tender and bruised. It doesn’t ignore the losses—we feel them more in the presence of joy. But healing has taught me that that’s not a reason to push joy away. If anything, it’s a reason to welcome it more intentionally. To stand with it, arms linked.
There is something sacred about letting joy and heartbreak live in the same room. About not waiting for our lives to be perfectly aligned before we let the light in. Joy can sit next to sorrow. Allow it to seep through the cracks. It doesn't cancel our grief or sadness—it simply says, “You’re still here. Alive. Changing. Growing. You still get to feel this.”
And, I think, that’s what breaks me open.
That even with the aches and pains, joy still comes.
Even when I’m unsure. Even when I’m tired. Even when my heart is still rearranging itself around what or who I'm no longer tethered to—joy still finds a way in.
In this season, I want to be someone who notices joy and tenderness without abandon. I want to be someone who lets it hurt a little if it needs to—but who doesn’t close the door out of fear or unreadiness. Because no matter how much joy reminds me of the places in my life that still sting, it also reminds me of my aliveness. Of what matters. Of what’s worth holding onto.
And maybe that’s the whole point.
Week 1's Question:
What moment this week caught me off guard—in a good way? How did it shift my perspective or mood?
ANSWER:
My kids and I have been growing lotus seeds, and they’ve started to sprout. Just the other day, they were tiny little shoots—now they’re starting to rise above the water. We’re all so giddy about it. I didn’t expect to care this much, but I find myself completely attuned to their growth. This little experiment at home has pulled me out of the usual busyness of adulthood and brought me back to having the heart and awe of a child. I love it here.
New video on leaning into divine alignment below. I hope it serves you well.
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Alex, this is so beautiful. That line—“joy often arrives in spite of things, not because of them”—is everything. It's so true, and so rarely named. Joy can feel like a betrayal and a homecoming all at once.
Also, I don't know if you remember as it's been quite a few years but I'm the founder of Rhodes Wedding Co. and we created a necklace for you to honor you and your daughter. I still think about that piece all the time. You are such a gift.
My answer to the week 1 question is I have been noticing so many adorable little dogs on my walk around the harbor. They always make me smile regardless of my mood.😊