the art of joy

from: italy

good morning, happy monday. feel free to tuck in to this letter with a nicely prepared drink of your choice (mine is iced chai w a squeeze of lemon juice), and let me talk to you about whats been on my mind lately. 

recently i finished all of my university courses (more on the sadness stemming from that fact later). but in the last one of them, i was introduced to the book that would come to define the first stage of summer. goliarda sapienzas the art of joy.

but before i talk to you about the book, i want to preface this by saying that lately ive been no master of joy. to tell the truth, its been getting harder and harder to get out of the house. i dont know about you, but for me, that hesitation is the first major red flag that my mental health is slipping (the second: listening to slow-sad the 1975 songs in bed)

so to cure it, here’s what i ordered myself to do:
get out of the house the first thing.

i don’t know why, but (from the comfort of my own bed), all i’ve been seeing the tiktok girlies saying for the 101 mental health stability routine is going outside first thing in the morning. because apparently, sunlight is good for you. so today i decided, after waking up late and missing the window of morning sun on my balcony, i decided to head out.

and there is something inherently humbling about walking in public with a full head of bed hair and an outfit picked out by your most sleepy-eyed self.

now, i wont say it was life-changing, but it was mind-shifting. mind-relieving, even (if i am allowed to use that marinetti futuristic dream of abolishing unnecessary words in the sentence-chain). it felt awkward at first, stepping out intentionally phone-less, a glass of cold matcha-latte in hand. but as i turned the corner, felt the sun on my shoulders, warm on my back, the song of cicadas (almost overpowering in the summer heat), my body loosened up. i purposefully chose the smaller streets, trying to be attentive to the world around me. i could smell freshly bloomed citrus flowers, the buzzing of bees – saw three older men, all with hands clasped behind their backs – as they were walking through the neighbourhood, stopping every few meters to converse about something or other. almost at the park i stopped in front of an apartment whose inhabitants are seemingly always playing soft jazz, the music perpetually streaming out of their windows onto the street below. i know its silly, but that always makes so happy. i tend to stand, linger for a while, and just listen to the record its inhabitants have chosen for the day.

its like a balm for your ears, as a friend of mine once said.

continuing on, i walked through the park. grass, dogs, children laughing and parents singing. i walked back home and did my regular morning things, breakfast, skincare, tidying up before sitting down at my desk, trying to re-familiarize myself with this overhanging sadness.

which, as i hinted above, always tend to arrive with summer. with the ending of things.

because lately i’ve been carrying a lot of resentment and guilt in my heart. and i only realized what it stemmed from after listening to a podcast, (the podcast i always tend to listen to when i am in need of a gut-wrenching aha realization). in it, the hosts glennon, abby and amanda are talking about guilt, and the guilt-that-is-not-guilt we experience when we are trying to set and uphold a boundary.

to preface with an example: immagine you’ve planned to meet a friend for drinks on friday night, but when friday night comes around, after a long tiring week of work, you find yourself not at all up for an alcohol-fueled three hour gossiping session. instead, all you’re desperately craving is a night in to rest and pamper, to order sushi and eat it in bed. now, already i can feel the guilt sneaking up on me from this imaginary example, because, as you are thinking about the prospects of cancelling (how to phrase it, how to execute it), you are already trying to assume and predict the reaction of your friend (which usually goes something like this: oh my god she will hate me for cancelling, she will be so disappointed, what if she responds and is super mad and wont talk to me ever again). so, even before you’ve sent the text, you’ve wrapped yourself up in even more anxiety and dread, which is (as glennon explains), an embodying of that friends emotional response (which hasn’t even happened yet!). the imaginary emotional response, to to speak, is calling all the guilt-evocative shots. but heres the thing, as glennon points out: that guilt is not guilt. because guilt is the feeling we experience when we’ve acted in a way that is not in alignment with our own values. cancelling an appointment to honour my own need for rest, is not acting out of alignment with my own values, since i value my well-being and mental health. hence the guilt is not guilt, but something else entirely – a bad feeling entirely dependent on the presumed negative reaction of somebody else.

so the bad feeling i experience when i honour my own needs and cancel, and am confronted with the negative reaction (that may or may not happen) of my friend, is not guilt (because i have not acted out of alignment with my own values), it is simply me taking in that (potential) negative reaction into my own body – embodying it – which is not empathy, as glennon points out. she mentions shame-researcher brene browns discovery that the most empatethic people are those that are best at setting and upholding boundaries, since they are the ones not embodying that potential negative reaction of the one receiving the boundary. they are in possession of themselves. because they are good at honouring their own values, and when one is in possession of ones own values – and are acting in alignment with the intellect of ones own body – one can truly see the emotions of the other. when we are embodying ourselves, we are more open to truly perceive the others reaction, which may be disappointment (and then we can respond with empathy: i would be disappointed too if something id been looking forward to all week has been cancelled, i would feel that way too if someone that i loved could no longer meet me) which is not the kind of guilt-empathy of taking on anothers potential reaction. instead it is the self-possessed empathy for seeing another persons emotional reaction.

and that is an art-form.

because lets say you submit to that guilt-empathy and meet the friend anyway. perhaps you show up tired, low energy. you’ve prepared yourself at home beforehand with a low-burning resentment that inevitable hovers over both the situation and the friend, which does not deserve that at all.

now, i dont want to show up anywhere with resentment clouding my heart. i want to show up totally in possession of my own self and emotions so i can be there in the moment and giving it my full attention, because that is what it deserves. 

and this is the realization that dawned on me:
since i am in a period of uncertain sadness, perhaps upholding my own needs and values is of the utmost importance, which entails setting some boundaries, which can be uncomfortable.

and i don’t think this is something you learn how to do in a day.

instead, it is a constant process, a life-long practice to learn.

just like goliarda sapienza, who in her novel, constructs the art-form that is joy.

and here we have arrived at the last leg that makes up this unusually long letter.

take another sip (or a second serving) of that drink and we’ll continue –

goliarda sapienza, l’arte della gioia

to keep it short and sweet: the main character modesta (coolly radical, inspiringly feminist), chooses to shape her life according to her own values. which involves rustling some patriarchal feathers. despite the forces working to undermine her, she builds her own life, on her own terms. taking inspiration from the books and thinkers that come into her life.

towards the end, sapienza has formulated this joy of life as an art – a mestiere [trade] - that one learns and practices as one goes through life. la serenità é stata un atto di volontà [serenity was an act of will]. joy is a skill and a way of inhabiting both ones body and mind, simultaneously. it is no cartesian dualism, where reason reigns supreme; joy is the amalgamation of flesh and mind, an intellect that comes from the body.

and that is a joy one learns how to cultivate as one grows older.

ma a quarant’anni, a cinquanta, l’essere umano… diventa pericoloso, si pone dubbi, richiede libertà, riposo, gioia… al tempo di stendhal una donna a trent’anni era vecchia. io a trent’anni ho appena cominciato a capire e vivere [but at forty, at fifty, the human being… becomes dangerous, she poses questions, demands freedom, rest, joy… during the time of stendhal a woman at thirty was old. at thirty i have barely begun to understand and live.]

i guess the overarching conclusion that i want to weave is that living is an art-form. as is setting boundaries, cultivating joy, and navigating summer sadness.

i decided to go out for a walk this morning because once you’ve been outside the door, its easier to do it again, and again. like an art, it takes practice. once you’ve done it the hurdle is not so big anymore, because you’ve landed on the other side, proven yourself capable, more times than you could count.

and after some time, after the act has become habit and your walking on autopilot, your footsteps almost engrained on the pavement –

joy will arrive.

like it always does,

towards the end.

if you’ve made it to the end, a big big thank you.

and thank you for being here, even when i am not, as i haven’t lately been. 

here’s to the cold august winds that will surely refreshen our weary hearts soon.

love,

e.