Return of Joy
Sometimes, it takes a long time for a new way of living to replace an old one.
For as long as I can remember, since I was a little kid, I've been drawn to running. Something about the simplicity of it felt freeing and peaceful.
But somewhere along the way, this pure, childlike enjoyment was stifled and replaced by a different energy. I lost touch with the simple joy of running when I was introduced to striving. Striving to be good, to be better, to be impressive!
Striving forward, I adopted some weird form of the high school athletics mantra, "no pain, no gain" as my beginning and end. Reduced to pains and gains, running became a flat, dull, one-dimensional task—something to get over with. I went from running as something joyful and leisurely to running as a way to work out, to get my heart rate up, to check a box.
Our souls are vast and enormous. Once childlike joy goes into hiding, it can take some time to find it.
This summer I embarked on a search to rediscover the joy of running. I entered the space that had become charged with weird energy in search of the simple freedom I felt as a kid. I began to practice simply being present while running. On long runs, I told my mind to "stay out of it" when I began analyzing, evaluating, or freaking out. Over and over I repeated quietly and gently to myself: just. be. here. now. I allowed myself to run at a pace that was sustainable rather than impressive. With time and lots of steps (some that felt good, many that did not), the act of running became surprisingly meditative. Time began to pass differently. I can’t explain it but the minutes felt somehow more full of reality, an awareness, a sense of honesty I couldn’t quite grasp otherwise. Something new happened. Or maybe I was returning to something old? The beauty, pain, enjoyment and struggle all became necessary and connected—each had a role to play. Pain was no longer the big, dominant power in the mix; it was just pain, one small part of the process amongst many others.
After months of training, in October I ran a marathon. The experience was truly amazing and full of wonder. Maybe like the soul, the terrain was vast and enormous enough for me to get lost in the search, to turn a corner at mile 18 to discover childlike joy looking and waiting for me, grinning like a kid, ready to join in and show me the way home. In moments that glimmered with magic I felt like a little kid running in my childhood neighborhood. This wasn't a realization I reached, this was a gift I received. I didn't think or analyze my way to joy, it found me when I was tired and out of my mind. This experience helped me to see anew the limits of thinking and the power of practice. In this case, the practice of simply showing up and putting my body into the task without thinking about it too much.
As the wisdom saying goes, we don’t think (analyze or evaluate) our way into new ways of living, we actually live our way into new ways of thinking. This means experience is what drives understanding. Simple participation is more shaping than rigorous analysis. Along these lines, Mark Twain once mused, "A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn no other way". Until we actually feel and make our way through a particular experience, it’s meaning is hidden to us. Learning to embrace the actual experience of running, instead of reducing it to a means to an end, or just trying to get it over with, has brought about an experience I didn’t know was possible. There seems to be things we only come to know by getting lost in the task, by practicing something enough to redefine our relationship to it. This has me wondering how this experience could apply to other areas of my life. In what spaces might I benefit from less analyzing or judging and more emphasis on simply showing up and being awake as possible to what the task has to say to me?
It seems to me that spiritual or religious practice is an area where people often experience a similar loss of joy as time and changing circumstances have their way. What was once so very life-affirming and vital can become surprisingly hollow and cheap when it’s reduced to a means to an end. I wonder if this loss of joy is what Jesus is speaking to in Matthew (11:28-30) when he asks, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to life freely and lightly.”
In these words I hear Jesus inviting me to walk forward into an experience where I’ll learn to live free from striving, evaluating and judging. I hear Jesus inviting me to practice walking with a light and open heart. Like running, this isn’t a space for quick results, quick fixes, or quick anything. This is a space where I’m slowly turned towards home and re-oriented to love one walk, one run, one conversation at a time. Also, this isn’t a space where I think, solve, push or strive my way forward. This is a space where the simple, essential experience of being with Jesus is the gift. If anything, this is a relationship where I’m learning again and again to listen, to watch, to receive.
Adulthood can be so weird. On one hand it appears to offer so much freedom and control. Yet, at close examination, so much of the choice I have to do or not do things is tainted by the burdens of motivations that reduce things to have to’s. I have to work out, I have to go to church, I have to clean the bathroom, I have to take care of xyz. And then, when it’s done, I’ll rest. In this world of have to’s, of striving, of getting it over with, I wonder if there’s a return of joy that just might be available right in the very thick of my actual lived experience? I’m tired of thinking a vacation will return me to joy. I want it here, I want it within the texture of the life I actually live. Step by step, I want to practice being present to the one life I’ve been given. So, for now, I’m gonna do that the best way I know how, I’m gonna keep running.
Sometimes, it takes a long time for a new way of living to replace an old one. Sometimes it also takes a lot of practice.
Our souls are vast and enormous. Once childlike joy goes into hiding, it can take some time to find it...and sometimes when you least expect it, when you're tired and out of your mind, it finds you.
— Josh VonGunten
