Listening for Joy
I have a busy mind. I live in my head a lot. As an artist, that’s often a gift—but it also makes stillness all the more precious. Meditation has become one of the few places where I can sit with my thoughts instead of getting swept away by them. I’ve tried a number of different apps—most of them are helpful—but I find myself returning to Peloton again and again. Maybe it’s because it’s simple, maybe because I’ve come to love many of the instructors. There’s no pressure. I’m reminded over and over that it’s okay to have thoughts. That’s what the mind does.
The point isn’t to stop thinking—it’s to notice. To watch each thought drift by and let it go. And then let go again. Until they blur into something softer, like clouds out a train window—distinct at first, then just a gentle stream of white. That’s how I try to see my thoughts: not as distractions, but as part of the process. And when I get caught up in one (as I often do), I try to meet myself with grace and gently return to center, to stillness, to the quiet space where I can hear my heart.
What I’m listening for isn’t a voice. It’s a feeling. A feeling of peace.
Today, during a meditation with Ross Rayburn, he shared a teaching from a guru of his that stayed with me:
“There are two types of moments in a joyful life:
Moments when you are in your heart, experiencing innate joy.
And moments when you are turning your heart toward your innate beauty, power, and joy.”
That hit something deep within me.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m trying to build my life with more intention. I want to create a joyful life—and hearing those words made me pause and ask myself how I’m actually doing that. Am I paying attention to joy when it shows up? Am I making space to notice it? I don’t believe we can fully appreciate what we aren’t focused on, so I’m committing to noticing. Intentionally. Until it becomes second nature.
If you’re on a similar path—if you’re also learning how to recognize joy—I hope you’ll come along with me.
As always, I send you love and light.
