Take Joy

There came a time when living with the looping internal dialog so full of pain could not, and would not, be tolerated any longer. With that line drawn, I’d spend the next ten years sorting out those inherited belief systems that could be dispensed with forever. That done, I slowly moved forward – but not without a whole lot of help.

As I groped around searching for enlightenment from various sources, a lighted path in the form of a documentary about the life of Tasha Tudor was aired on PBS. Learning about this amazing woman’s life and her art expanded my horizons. For me, it was just the right dose of medicine at the right moment in time.

Distilling Tudor’s philosophy down to its purest form, she believed that living a peaceful, happy life was a choice – a choice as simple as ‘taking joy’ versus negativity.

Yes, a choice! I could choose to see beauty in the moment, enjoy it, versus focusing on something much less positive. By simply telling myself, “Oh, that is so beautiful!” and letting that thought seep into every fiber of my being, I could feel uplifted and, well, joyful. I was free to make a choice and ‘take joy.’ Liberation never felt so good.

Concurrent with finding Tudor were other discoveries that continued to help free my thinking processes, allowing me to grow emotional wings and build muscles that would be needed in the future.

There was Wayne Dyer, Ram Dass, Depak Chopra, Earl Nightingale, and Eleanor Roosevelt, to name a few. Call it self-help if you will. That is precisely what most mental health rehabilitation is all about for garden-variety neurotics – getting the individual to take responsibility for their own happiness. I took that challenge. I’ve never looked back.

One day, shortly after I moved to Mattapoisett and at the very beginning of my decade of discovery, I was taking a walk near my home and met a lady who was working in her yard. We chatted briefly about the lovely day, her flowers, the season ahead, and other pleasantries. As I walked on, I was left with a feeling of joy from merely being in her presences for a few moments. That brief interaction brought Tudor’s mantra ‘take joy’ to mind. It seemed this neighbor personified those words. She was fully in the moment and enjoying it.

As the years would pass, our paths crossed many times. Sometimes she’d ride her bike past my house cycling by with her famous cheery hello, or I’d walk by her home stopping to pass a bit of time over a flower specimen she was working on, or at a public hearing on a shared community issue. Each time I was left feeling good speaking with her.

This past spring, she was walking up the dump road with her husband and another neighbor as I was walking my dog back towards North Street. She called me over where her small group was standing looking intently into the woods at something. She said, “It’s a towhee…” with a childlike twinkle in her eye. She could hardly contain the joy she was feeling; it overflowed and filled me with wonder at the discovery of this migratory bird. And there it was – a tiny little bit of living, breathing perfection. Because of this lady, I was carried along happily engaged with Mother Nature, transported to a joyful place in my soul.

Oftentimes, as we had exchanged greetings over the decades, she never knew the burden I was carrying – nor I, hers. We avoided all that and gave each other something else, something positive, a bit of gladness, a smile, kindness and warmth.

When it became obvious that something was going wrong in her world, I was troubled. It’s a small town and soon I would learn of her health struggles. She wasn’t out in her yard any longer, or on her bike or her boat.

I sent her an email. I told her I knew things were difficult for her, but I wanted her to know that over the more than 20 years of our causal friendship, she had always uplifted me. I wanted her to know what a gift her voice in my ear had been. She replied with a thank you while urging me to keep on writing.

I saw her once more, early one morning as she walked slowly at her husband’s side near their home. She told me how much my email had meant to her. I could barely contain my tears. In that fleeting split-second of eye contact, I knew I would never see her again. I wanted to say something easy and sweet. I said, “What a morning!” as we stood in the warmth of the sun. She said, “Yes, isn’t it a good day to be alive.”

She is gone now. My heart is broken for her family and close friends. What a loss to a world in sore need of people who are able to take joy and then share it with others as she had been so famous for doing.

I will miss her, but I know I’ll see her and hear her in the changing seasons, the blush of a flower blossom, in fluttering hummingbird wings, clouds, wind, sunsets, and ocean waves. Her name is now added to my list of people who by their teachings or example have given me my freedom of choice – the freedom to take joy.

Thank you dear Ruth, rest in peace.

By Marilou Newell