Tinkling Bells in a World on Fire

Hustle culture says joy must be earned. Liberation says otherwise.

Levi was nine months old. It was Thanksgiving — or Friendsgiving, in our case. We were laughing, and I noticed Levi observing. Then he did something. He wasn’t quite speaking yet, but our friends laughed. So, he did it again. And then he laughed — that gorgeous, tinkling-bell kind of laugh that lights up a night sky.

That is joy.

And today, I look around. I observe a criminal rising fascist threat - which means people’s choice, lives, and well-being are all at stake. And, the question begs, is there even time for joy? As I write this, the House just passed a “Big Beautiful Bill” that promises to gut the social safety net poor people rely on. So, it’s a “Big Beautiful Bill” for very rich people, ensuring they will hoard even more wealth. People will die when they don’t get the food and care they deserve. The urgency of our times is very real. This urgency is hard. And, this barrage of terrible, no good things keeps us feeling disempowered, and certainly without joy.

Our culture treats joy like a reward you must earn after suffering enough. Hustle culture teaches us that productivity is a virtue, and rest is indulgence. Joy? Only allowed when the work is done — and by then, we’re too depleted to enjoy it. These messages trace back to the values embedded by early White Anglo-Saxon Protestant settlers — the same values that fused hard work with moral worth and deferred happiness to the afterlife. It’s a worldview that tells us joy is frivolous, pleasure is sinful, and rest is weakness.

So, how can we use joy radically? We can use joy radically as a tool to interrupt systems of control. When I sold books door-to-door, we were taught to schedule joy into our day — to interrupt the grind intentionally. Dance breaks, silly inside jokes, little acts of delight. Those small disruptions made the long, hard days bearable — and reminded us that we were more than what we sold. When we interrupt our day-to-day doldrums with joy, we get the work done, but we also center our humanity. We center connection to each other and the world around us. We center pleasure.

Centering joy is especially important for women, mothers, and other people targeted by structural harm. When we center joy in this way, we are taking revolutionary acts. Group dance breaks, for example, teach people that we can work together, but it looks utterly ridiculous to the very serious among us. As long as we are committed to the reason why we are here (people are literally dying), we can bring joy in AND be serious.

One way of looking at it - when we center joy, we are saying, “I am still here. I am still whole. And, I am still worth it.”

Joy isn’t just personal — it’s political.

It’s political because rest and joy were systematically denied to enslaved people, particularly to laborers and women who were expected to serve others—specifically, Black women. Black joy, queer joy, disabled joy, and mothering joy are all political because society tells us that we must suffer in silence. For instance, mothers don’t complain because at least they have a roof over their heads. Therefore, we must lean into collective joy. Together, we build resilience through music, protests, celebration, and community rituals. Protests should weave all of these elements together. (I talk about this lightly in my guide to how fascism weaponizes motherhood.)

I described one example of how I make space for joy when I sold books door to door. That simple idea of taking a 2-minute dance break in the middle of the day, no matter where you are, inspires me in a lot of other ways. Other ways include telling irrelevant jokes to laugh, or making time for art (I do a version of bullet journaling where I literally draw the day every day in brushstrokes, which brings me joy). I also do art with a group of friends every Monday evening. That’s it, we create. I find joy in creation, so these are outlets I seek out. But you need to find what works for you. Maybe it’s a walk in nature (which we know is so restorative), maybe it’s singing or listening to a song. Maybe it’s aligning your baths with the moon cycles. Maybe it’s keeping your loved ones close (with consent and choice). Maybe it’s saying no to something that’s draining you. (Remember, no is a complete sentence.)

It is a struggle to allow joy in when we are doing big things, like organizing people around life and death - literally. In my work, so many of the family child care providers have a story where their retirement plan is death - this is literally life and death. And, I engage in emotional labor when I hold their pain. This is heavy work. And, it’s hard to make space to feel good when there is so much suffering. But we must. (One of my favorite sketches of Jesus is of him laughing.) Joy must coexist with grief. It should never be either/or. At my grandparents’ funerals — and at my sister’s — we told old stories and shared terrible, wonderful inside jokes. We wept. And we laughed. That mixture of grief and joy was holy.

Where is joy showing up for you? Even if it’s just a flicker — can you make more room for it? What’s one small thing that brings you joy? What would it look like to prioritize that today? Choosing joy is not weakness, especially among the heavy things we are doing. It actually demonstrates a lot of courage and strength to be able to say, “I need a break. I will do the other thing, and right now, I need joy.”

Remember, we were made for these times, even when it feels heavy and big and unweilding. We can do this. And, we can do this together.

Joy is a value of mine. And, I still want to know more about your values, especially what brings you joy. Take my survey, and join the conversation of our collective values.

🌿 Tell me what you value.

I’m gathering reflections from this community about what matters most — especially the things that bring you joy.