When I first committed to being a joy-warrior, an image appeared in my mind of a glowing golden light that looked as if it was pouring through an open doorway, its light making a long, equally glowing path from where I stood to the distant doorway. Along the dark structures rose of various sizes and shapes, casting their shadows on the path. To me, it represented both the goal and the challenges I would face in reaching it.

Like many of us, I’ve been experiencing this time we find ourselves in as one of the shadowed parts of the path. And the shadow sometimes feels very dark and long. We persevere, but we get weary and discouragement nibbles away at our resolve. All the contention and anger, the disruptions, suffering and uncertainty take their toll.

I was standing in a pool of gloom myself today when I ran across a quote from Dalai Lama XIV that somebody posted on Twitter. “ Choose to be optimistic,” he said. “It feels better.”

“Oh!” some little voice in my head responded. “That’s right!” Feeling better was exactly what I wanted. I was getting pretty tired of gloom. And what a poke his sentence was! It reminded me that optimism was a choice. Hope was mine for the choosing.

Choosing to find the good in any circumstance is one of the disciplines a joy-warrior works to master. And optimism is just that–a discipline. You need to train for it, and to practice it. Otherwise, the shadows will stop you in your tracks and eat your heart.

 I opened my joy-journal and found some notes I made the last few times I battled the shadows. The first one I found was a reminder of the reasons for adopting an optimistic view: less stress, greater self respect and integrity, better coping skills, better health, more patience, increased proactivity, more effective problem solving, enhanced peace of mind, increased gratitude and forgiveness.

Yes! That sounded good to me. I turned a few more pages and found “Tips for Reclaiming the Light.” It was a list of familiar practices that I had cast aside while stumbling in the shadows.

The first one was a little list under the heading “Mindfulness.” It started with a simple instruction. “Be Here Now. Focus on being intensely aware of what you’re sensing and feeling in the moment, without interpretation or judgment.” Under that, it said, “Pay attention to your senses. What are you seeing? Hearing? Smelling? Feeling? Tasting?”

I remembered the peace and gentle happiness I felt last Tuesday as I sat on the porch at night, listening intently, with closed eyes, to all the sounds I could hear, and how I became aware of the subtle changes in temperature. I remembered the little thrill of joy as I opened my eyes and saw the stars above me. Such a simple act, and yet what beautiful rewards!

The next line said, “Walk. Slowly. Pay attention to your posture, to the movement of your muscles and bones.” This is a good one. You can do it out in nature or, if it’s raining, right in your kitchen or living room. It breaks the chain of stories you’ve been telling yourself and conquers your racing thoughts.

The last line said, “Breathe.” You just sit down, close your eyes, take a deep breath and then pay attention as your breath flows in and out. It’s very calming and refreshing, and if you do it for a little while, bringing your attention back to your breath when you notice that thoughts have intruded, you come away from it feeling wide awake and aware.

Those were enough to get me on the right track again, out of the weight of the shadows, into the light.

But I flipped through a couple more pages anyway. “Name three things that you enjoyed today,” one said. That’s something I do every night writing them down in a gratitude journal I keep. It’s a nice way to end the day and sends you to sleep with greater peace.

 “Be your own beloved friend. Just as you are.” When I remember to do that, to accept myself, with all my warts and imperfections, the way I accept my dearly loved friends, it dissolves whatever hardness and self-blame I’ve been holding, turning them into self-compassion.

I was just going to put my journal away, grateful for the reminders, when a folded slip of paper fell out. On it, I found a beautiful observation I’d saved, authored by historian Howard Zinn. I’ll leave you with it’s wise perspective and wish you a week of light and peace.

 ““TO BE HOPEFUL in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.

What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.

And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”

 Much warmth, Susan

Somewhere, deep in our molecular makeup, we hold a concept of a perfect world.

We have an intuition that in a dimension we can’t quite identify, everything is beautiful and pleasing, and every sentient being is entirely free of suffering and delusion and overflowing with joy. We might not believe it is a real place. But still, we love to imagine it.

And when we do imagine it, we can’t help but want that place to be here, and we ask why it couldn’t be and what would we have to do to bring it here, to transform this into that.

Some folks get to being creative, inspired by the concept of moving toward that ideal, that Paradise thing. They invent things and methods to contribute to joy and ease, to enhance and enrich life in some way.

Some folks, unfortunately, get mad that Paradise isn’t here and find other folks to blame that on, and then the whole big drama of human history unfolds. Maybe it’s matter of living on this binary holodeck called Earth, where everyone inevitably gets damaged to some extent, because there’s no such thing here as perfection.

Nevertheless, even here, you get to choose whether you’ll live in darkness or in light. It’s a moment-to-moment choice. And being a joy warrior means being aware that the choice exists, always.

The choice for joy may seem like an impossibility when you’re in a pit of despair. But you’re never irreversibly stuck. The fact that we struggle so hard to climb out of the pits into which we fall is proof of that.

Things change. That’s another feature of life on Earth. I own a little rock that has the word “Change” engraved in it sitting on my window sill. It reminds me that life is in constant flow. My task as a joy warrior is to learn to steer my thoughts and actions in a way that lets me ride the best currents I can find.

Later on in this series, I’ll talk about the enemies of joy I’ve encountered and share some of the tools I found that let me banish them, or at least to cut them down to size. For now, let me assure you that hope is always available to you, however dim and far away it may look from your current perspective.

Hold on to hope. Darkness is never complete, and it can be conquered by one little glimmer of light.