Thievery

So we have a big trip coming up. 

It’s been in the works for a few years…well, arguably it’s been in the works since I was a 20-year-old raft guide sitting around a campfire listening to a group of friends wax poetic about their 22-day trip down the Grand Canyon section of the Colorado River.

It’s popped up again and again since then. I even got a 3-day taste at one point.  

But about 18 months ago we decided to make it happen: spend a couple of weeks rafting the Grand Canyon before the Colorado River runs dry. 

I’m so excited.

I’m SO tempted to spend this whole post sharing all the things I’m most looking forward to, but here’s the thing…

Even after more than two decades aching to do this very thing, I have been over here stealing all kinds of joy from it.

Hear me out, because it’s something we all do.

Instead of thinking about the gift of this off-grid time, I’ve been worried about meeting all of my deadlines in time and even occasionally lamenting all the time away from my projects (perk of loving the work you do, but still…hello!).

Instead of sinking into a long-held dream becoming a reality, I’ve been worrying about the money. 

And the dog. 

And the house. 

And whether the bit of extra padding around my middle will…well, I don’t exactly know what, but I’m worrying about it nonetheless.

Are you seeing a theme here?

Theodore Roosevelt (supposedly— no definitive evidence) said, “Comparison is the thief of joy.”

We’ve heard it a million times.

And it’s true— no question there.

But worry might give comparison a real run for its money in the stealing joy game.

Let me be clear, by “worry” I’m not merely referring to middle of the night hand-wringing. 

There’s not a ton of that for me this time around, though I’ve certainly done my fair share of it.

What I’m talking about includes all of the little niggles of irritation that this trip is “interrupting” my routines, or that it means scooting a deadline up by a few days.

I mean the sense of “hassle” it can take on when I’m filling out forms for the house and dog sitter.

It means the subtle wish I could put it off until I have a chance to get rid of that extra five (okay, okay 10…OKAY,15…whatever, shut up…pizza makes life worth living) pounds.

It’s the things I let grab my attention and steal my joy, my anticipation, my excitement.

We know that anticipation of positive future events improves our well-being— in other words, the anticipation of doing something fun increases our joy of it and allows that joy to last longer and be felt more deeply.

And yet, I’m over here focused on trying to rearrange my flow boards in Asana rather than re-reading The Emerald Mile for the *cough* fourth time and imagining sun-drenched days between rock walls that pre-date the dinosaurs.

Thankfully, there are 2 ideas I keep coming back to that are saving the day (and my joy):

(1) I made a choice and I’m standing by it.

This is obvious, and we know it, but if you’re anything like me, you forget it all the damn time: when we make one choice, we’re NOT making a different choice.

Duh.

But we’re always trying to make a bunch of things happen in the same time slots or attention slots in our days and weeks and lives. 

Which means we’re trying to make a choice but then ALSO make a bunch of other choices.

If I choose to watch a movie and then I spend the whole time scrolling my phone, I’m trying to make both choices…and end up not really making either.

If I choose to raft the Grand Canyon (I do! I do make that choice! Pick me! 🙋🏻‍♀️ Pick me! 🙋🏻‍♀️), but then I ALSO choose to bring a bunch of worry about the emails I’m not seeing or the pages I’m not writing or whatever work I’m not doing…you guessed it…I’m not making either choice.

Standing by our choices means letting go of the ones we’re NOT making. 

Which looks a lot like the second idea…

(2) To be where I AM.

This is often what standing by our choice looks like.

It means that if I’m in the Canyon, no part of me— including my brain and my attention— is at my desk.

It means that if I’m at dinner with a friend, no part of me— including my brain and my attention— is at home watching Ted Lasso.

To be where I am means that I do whatever I need to in order to constantly draw my attention and my presence back to the room I’m actually in, the conversation I’m having right now, the page I’m reading,  etc etc etc. 

This gets easier the more you do it, I promise.

Until then, the way in the door is to notice— notice what you can hear, see, smell, feel RIGHT NOW and allow it to hold your attention. Notice when you start mentally drifting towards something else.

It’s both really simple and not simple at all. But it’s worth it.

Look, these are not new ideas.

Yet, somehow they always feel a little radical, a little revolutionary.

Our joy is where so much of our energy stems from.

It’s what fuels the work that so much of the things that matter to us require.

Keeping our lives filled with joy— big joy, sure, but also the quiet and subtle and sneaky joys, too— is how we keep showing up in all the ways that are most important to us.

So let’s stop stealing bits of it away, mmmkay?

Alrighty…I’ll see you on the flip side of the Canyon in a few weeks…send all your high water and sunscreen vibes my way! 😉

I’m thinking of doing a little story-telling about it when I get back…I’ve been craving a little more of that kind of writing lately…what do you think? 

Would you like some photos and travel stories like I used to do more of when we were living on the road?

I’d love to hear your thoughts…and also anything you’ve found helpful to stop stealing from your joy and your fun…share! share!

Have a lovely couple of weeks and remember to stay curious out there…