Last time, I wrote about the illusion of motion—the myth of busyness, that seductive grind where we push through exhaustion, barely pausing long enough to breathe, let alone savor the fruits of our own labor. Today, I want to talk about the other half of living.

Yes, achievement matters. Rest matters. But so does joy—unapologetic, unhurried, full-bodied joy.

I’m talking about the things that breathe life back into you. The experiences that puncture the dull film of routine and remind you that you are, in fact, alive. The moments that return you to hope, crack you open to connection, place you face-to-face with love.

Most of us can name the five or six things that bring us pure, unfiltered delight. I bet a smile tugged at you even as you read that sentence. Because this isn’t just memory at work; it’s muscle memory of the soul. The body does not forget what has carried it toward bliss.

The beach that coaxes your five-year-old self out of hiding.

The meal that proves joy can be both simple and spectacular.

The performance that rearranges something deep inside you.

The moment you look at your partner and think, yes, I’d choose you again.

The conversation that makes you feel seen in a way that surprises you.

The family meal—everyone present, phones silenced—when you realize how lucky you are to belong.

The girls’ trip that restores your faith in the world because, really, with these women walking the earth, what could possibly go wrong?

And yet, if I asked when you last touched one of these joys, most would say a few times a year—if that. As if joy were some rare celestial event, something that visits only in leap years.

Why do we give so much of our time to striving and so little to the things that fill us? Why do our lives tilt so easily toward overcoming rather than towards living—truly, joyously living?

Yes, ambition has its place. Work shapes us. Discipline sustains us. But joy—joy is what resets the system. Joy is what refuels the spirit. Joy is what reminds us why the game matters at all, and why our fleeting, miraculous time here deserves reverence.

We are experts at soldiering on, at squaring our shoulders and pressing forward. We are far less practiced in leaning toward our delight, far less courageous in insisting that joy, too, deserves our devotion.

So, to you, my dear readers, I wish an unreasonable abundance of joy. Make room for it. Be relentless in its pursuit. Let it overflow your cup. In this holiday season—and in all the seasons that follow—may joy find you, claim you, and keep you honest about what your life is truly worth.