Joy is the Journey, Not the Destination
A bookish friend recently sent me a screenshot of her latest read. I’ll include it below but in case you just need the gist it says that by always choosing comfort and convenience, we unknowingly miss out on something beautiful—joy. To fully enjoy life, then, we need to resist the pull of instant gratification and allow satisfaction to unfold on the journey.
Easier said than done. I know. But hear me out…
During my time in Morocco, every day was built around sharing home-cooked meals with my boyfriend. We’d stop whatever we were doing to gather for three squares a day and pause again for tea, bread, and olive oil when the call to prayer echoed across the village at five o’clock.
I sometimes felt impatient if the tagine needed another twenty minutes to simmer while my stomach growled. But oh, the happiness when he finally revealed his steaming masterpiece—a meal cooked with love.
Without a car, we spent more time getting to our destination than actually being there. Sometimes we walked for hours, picking up stray dogs along the way, bouncing unbelted in the backs of unofficial taxis, or hitching rides with friendly Moroccans heading home after work. By the time we finally made it back, our lower backs ached from the miles we’d covered, but sleep always came easily—a mix of physical exhaustion and a deep sense of fulfillment.
Now that I’m back in the U.S., the land of convenience and consumerism, I find myself missing the aliveness that a slower, simpler life brings.
Sure, eating at trendy restaurants with dim lighting and overly attentive servers has been a nice change. But it’s not long before the server interrupts the conversation to refill my ice water, ask if I want dessert, or drop off the bill - “No rush; I’ll take it when you’re ready,” they assure me.
But I just got here. If there’s no rush, why ask me to pay up while I’m still chewing? Now, I’ve lost my train of thought.
I don’t dare say any of this out loud. Instead, I nod and smile, trying not to look like a weirdo who just crawled out of a cave. Right then, I vow to slow down and enjoy the ride no matter how fast the world around gets.
Here’s what that looks like for me…
+ Walking to places when I can. Though the roads are more expansive here, the sidewalks sparse, and the drivers more aggressive, I am determined. I am determined to keep carving a magical and wondrous path where joy is not the destination but the journey.
+ Resisting the urge to grab the already chopped and washed bagged salad with the dressing included from the store and instead load my cart with colorful vegetables. Delighting in the crunching sound that each one makes as I carefully curate my nutrient-dense masterpiece.
+ Refraining from doom-scrolling and, instead, dust off my ukulele. Tuning it and practice the few songs I know well, like Little Boxes by Malvina Reynolds. Cringing as I stumble through the first run-throughs, but then taking pleasure in the relaxing of my shoulders and the loosening of my jaw as my magical singing voice, buried deep within, starts to spill out into the room.
+ Staying present to the person in front of me regardless of how loud the music blares, how bad the urge is to check my phone, or how often the server interrupts our conversation. Asking questions and listening - really listening - to their responses.