The Path to Joy

As any parent would likely agree, one of the most rewarding aspects of parenthood is to witness the experience of joy in a child. Those moments when they express the purity of happiness, love, and self-abandonment with such intensity and fearlessness that it takes your breath away. On the occasion that I might receive the gift of such a moment, I often feel a brand of joy myself, but also a certain nagging sensation that experiencing joy as a part of life used to come more easily. It’s almost as if the natural state of joy is something we outgrow as we enter into adulthood, handing it over as partial payment for the serious grown-up phase of life. The vague but alluring dreams of a happy marriage, beautiful family, and fulfilling (but also highly successful!) career take root in its place promising the return of Joy one day -- when all these things have been achieved and everything is in place. 

This replacing of Joy with the seriousness of work and responsibility happens gradually. When we are in Middle School and High School it is no longer socially acceptable to outwardly express joy in many of the ways that we did as young children, but in some cases evidence of joy during work or play is still rewarded. As a young musician my affinity and love for playing the clarinet was met with praise and positive feedback from adults and peers alike. It wasn’t just my hard work and dedication that others found admirable, but also that my joy in performing was palpable to audiences. Adults watch young musician’s play with abandon, without fear of criticism or failure and they think “I was never talented enough to do that”. People focus on talent and skill as being the unachievable piece, but I think it is also that commitment of being completely in the moment of expression as it unfolds -- experiencing it as the audience does, being there with the audience, that we grown-ups secretly envy. 

The dissolution of Joy as a partner in our work is slow and pernicious. Many of us don’t recognize it’s absence as that vague feeling of dissatisfaction-- we know something is missing, but we tend to chase the wrong things to fill the void that remains. Recent circumstances have revealed this as my story over the years. Consistent and true joy has been absent from my experience as a performer for so long that I haven’t been able to see it as a problem, and on the rare occasion I have felt joy on stage it has seemed more like a fluke than an expectation. Assuming I am not the only one to feel this way, why does this happen to us? How does this happen to us? 

I have pondered these questions a great deal over the past few months, and through a combination of experiences, reading, and wise counsel I have identified a few of the culprits that may be partially responsible for robbing us musicians of our joy in our work. The first step for me was to recognize and name the feeling or state of being that initiates this landslide that eventually suffocates all joy. I think this state is fear, specifically fear of vulnerability. When we feel the stakes have been raised with regards to a pursuit or passion, our perspective often changes, and vulnerability can feel like the enemy. Author and social science researcher Brene Brown defines vulnerability as “uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure.” She also describes it 

as “the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity.” If this is true, how do we reconcile this seemingly paradoxical statement? 

Perfectionism

Brown goes on to name and flesh out the common ways we react to feeling vulnerable. While I find all of this research illuminating, I will focus here on the material I relate to most as a performer and musician. Perfectionism is a quality that many of us identify with as musicians. It is even something that has come to be perversely valued by contemporary American culture as a type of motor that drives our success and improvement. I have gained new awareness of the feedback loop perfectionism creates in my work. The more vulnerable I feel, the louder and harsher the voice of the Perfectionist in my head becomes; the more criticism I take from that voice the more shame and vulnerability l experience, and so on. The seed of unworthiness has been planted, and the idea that I should have permission to feel Joy while playing no longer seems like a topic that is relevant. Instead of feeling Joy we can experience a type of paralysis: The procrastinating perfectionist paradox (say that five times fast). We put off doing the thing, starting the thing, sharing the thing until we feel ready -- it must first be perfect! Perfectionism is self-sabotage dressed up in business attire, hard to recognize for its destructive potential in our life and work. At the very least we hold something back from the world, and the chorus of “I am not enough” becomes the unconscious anthem of our work. 

Comparison 

Comparison usually tags along with Perfectionism, eager to jump in when we are in a state of scarcity. We look around wondering why someone else has the thing we want, and what we should have done differently to get it. Or worse, we can start to believe we are fundamentally flawed or unable to achieve our hopes and dreams no matter how hard we work for them. Theodore Roosevelt famously said “comparison is the thief of all joy.” When we compare ourselves to others we take the focus away from what we have to offer through our own unique gifts, and shift it towards feelings of inadequacy and envy. Making a habit of this leaves us feeling bitter and defeated in our work. 

Toxic environments 

One of the drawbacks to choosing orchestral performance as a career is that we have very little control over where we end up working. The competition for these jobs is intense, and the high ratio of failure to success in this endeavor can be spirit-breaking. If we are lucky enough to get one of these highly sought after positions, we might find ourselves attempting to navigate foreign terrain that can be riddled with landmines. Because getting tenure requires fitting in, this leaves us in a tricky position if the culture we need to fit into is rife with complaining, criticism, or in worst case scenarios, openly hostile. Conservatory environments can be just as toxic when unhealthy competitiveness is left unchecked or even encouraged. How are we to flourish when we are surrounded by so much negativity? While we may have felt a kind of joy upon getting that job or getting accepted to that prestigious conservatory, true Joy doesn’t seem to belong here. She is the friend in our rearview mirror waving goodbye as we leave her behind with the lighthearted times of youth. 

Self-compassion and empathy 

An experience I had recently brought all three of these perpetrators into play to create a perfect cocktail of stress and frustration. I had started to gain clarity with my vulnerability/perfectionism feedback loop hypothesis, and was on high alert heading into a week of difficult exposed orchestral solos and a very taxing program. Things were going well, but the familiar doubts and questions were still there: Would I be able to continue my string of success through the weekend of concerts? Would I have the endurance to get through it? At the end of an exhausting rehearsal a colleague made a less-than-supportive comment that struck exactly the right nerve of insecurity. All remnants of my positive headspace were gone, and just like that I was in defensive mode. The Perfectionist was shaking her head with an “I told you so” expression on her face, and Shame was setting up camp where Joy once lived. 

In the past I would have been effectively sidelined by all this. Yes, I would have gotten through the concerts fine, and probably held onto some pride for being able to do so, but I most definitely would not have enjoyed it. This time was different for one beautifully simple shift in my thinking. Instead of being derailed by the shame spiral, I choose to show myself some compassion and view my colleague through a lens of empathy. In effect, I chose myself, and gave myself permission to experience Joy. I performed well that weekend, but that fact paled in comparison to the thrill of finding Joy again by way of this one simple choice. 

A Container for Joy 

Weeks later, still reveling from my discovery, I was pondering the deep question of where this Joy comes from and where it resides. Since I had found her by way of choosing to support myself, it follows that true Joy must be internal and not found by chasing outside acceptance or approval from others. At the risk of sounding flowery, I had a vision of a well-spring in my soul--a place I can choose to drink from that has the potential to be always replenished. A dear friend, more fluent in the language of this topic, suggested the image of holding a container for Joy inside of ourselves. I now believe that protecting this sacred space is of paramount importance, and I believe that our willingness to dip into this container as performers will deepen our connection to the music and to our audience. Ironically, in choosing to give ourselves permission to experience joy and all the breadth and depth of emotion the music has to offer, we choose a higher calling of our art. One that is less concerned with our personal image, impact or gain, and one that serves the bigger picture of communication through music. We say music is the universal language, but if we cheat ourselves of receiving any emotional impact from that communication, aren’t we missing at least part of the point? 

The Struggle 

In sharing this deeply personal experience of discovery, I don’t mean to imply that accessing this is as simple as flipping a magical switch. Individually we all may be in very different places in terms of facing and fighting our demons. We can take comfort in the knowledge that the Struggle is in fact essential to personal growth and satisfaction in life. This particular realization crystallized for me after years of struggling with the gnawing feeling that there must be a better way. Learning to accept myself for who I am, right now, has been a critical piece in all of this. 

As part of preparing to write this blog post I rewatched the Pixar film Inside Out with my family. I won’t go into a full synopsis here, and if you haven’t seen this beautiful movie I would encourage you to do so, as there are layers of meaning that make it impactful for all ages. In the film, cartoon personifications of a young girl’s emotions go on a wild adventure as she faces a difficult time in her life. There is an incredibly touching scene towards the end in which Joy realizes that she must work with Sadness to help Riley (the young girl) cope with her coming of age struggles. They hold a representation of a memory together, and it in turn holds the color of both Joy and Sadness at the same time. In our darkest times, when we feel that Joy is very far away, we can be encouraged by this beautiful picture of holding more than one emotion at the same time. Joy hasn’t left us, but she may need to share the space -- and we may need to relinquish control. In doing so we allow ourselves to be more fully human.