Once, when I was in middle school, a girlfriend told me that it’s inappropriate that my middle name is Joyce, because someone with that name should be someone who brings joy to the people around her.
The same girl also continually pursued boys I liked and was too shy to talk to, and refused to eat the manicotti that my dad made for my birthday one year because she was, as far as I can tell, a cranky bitch who wanted everything to be about her.
In retrospect, I have no idea why we were friends, but we were.
For awhile here, I was blogging about my happiness project (inspiration courtesy of Gretchen Rubin). I had a whole bunch of things that I was going to try, from taking care to get sick less often to laughing more.
Turns out all I needed to raise my personal joy level was to go back to school. Yes, I am miserable. It’s hard and I’m overwhelmed and I’m not succeeding in the effortless way I grew used to as a low level manger with minimal responsibilities. I am trying my brain more than I ever have before, including as an undergrad. I am too busy to spend time with my friends, which is good because I don’t have any money to go anywhere anyway.
Yet, here I sit, joyous.
I am joyous in my busyness and my overtaxed brain and my struggling to catch up.
I’m not going to say that I bring joy to those around me, but for now? I’ve at least earned my middle name for myself.
Which is good, because my school email includes it in my signature line. Sure, I could change it, but at this point?