Allowing Joy
I recently wrote about co-facilitating a powerful workshop on resilience, leaning on a throughline of play. But there's more to that story - a deeper and wider layer I wasn't ready to write about yet. Sometimes life serves up a plate of suffering, heartache and sorrow, and it's not always easy in those moments to make space for joy and levity. But when we're intentional about allowing all of our emotions, and lean into what we love, joy has the power to help us heal. Here's my story of learning that lesson when I needed it most.
Ralph, with his family, on a hiking trip earlier this year
It was Sunday morning in San Diego. I had just attended my sister's wedding and was headed to the airport, when my husband and I got a text from Marci, one of my best friends: “On Friday, Ralph left the house to go for a bike ride on the mountain and has not returned.”
My heart sank. I struggled to believe what I was reading. My friend’s husband (also a dear friend of ours) was missing, and there was absolutely nothing tangible we could do to help. I felt anxious and sick with fear.
The journey home felt longer than usual, eager for an update with good news. But nothing came. And as eager as we were to check in, we knew Marci's phone needed to be kept clear for the search and rescue (SAR) efforts.
Under normal circumstances, I'd head up to the mountain right away, to support my friend and the effort. We don't live all that far from where he'd been riding, and I trained with K-9 SAR when I was younger. But as it was, two hours after returning home from the wedding, I needed to head three hours north to co-lead a weeklong workshop.
Should I still head north, I wondered? I felt a deep sense of responsibility to uphold my commitment, and had been looking forward to this event for months. And I knew the work would be meaningful on many levels, especially because I love facilitating. But my heart ached. And I wondered about the bounds of friendship and the unspoken rules of life. When do you drop it all to lean into what life is asking of you? And how do you determine what is actually being asked? I yearned for a book of answers.
As I was packing my car to head north, I felt grateful (and admittedly, a bit envious) to see that my husband was packing as well, putting a few things together to head to the mountain. I was relieved that at least one of us could be there for Marci.
My carpool friend and I made light conversation on our drive, but I struggled to focus. If I couldn't be present for something so basic, how was I going to be able to run a workshop for 30 plus people?
Enter the power of presence and joy.
And the understanding that, like clouds, feelings come and go - if we let them. If I could be present to whatever feelings arose, and give joy some authentic space amidst the internal chaos, I might just have a chance at responsibility.
On Day 1 of our workshop, Ralph had been missing for three days. Official SAR efforts continued and Marci’s RV became ‘Marci's Central Command’: the unofficial search operation (independent and contained) with able-bodied friends and family. That morning, the Signal chat message read:
If you are fit
If you are a mountain biker
If you are a hiker
If you navigate trail systems competently
Please join the search today.
I am all of those things. Oh, how I wanted to help. But at that moment, I was also a facilitator with an obligation. So, I my did best to exist in two places and follow along from afar.
That afternoon was our session on play, joy, and positive psychology. I shared how play is good for us and our nervous system, helping us avoid chronic illness and manage stress. And I laughed as my partner and I created a secret handshake along with the rest of the group. As I taught about play's power to regulate our nervous system, I felt it working in real time - the laughter and lightness offering genuine relief from the anxiety that had been churning in my stomach since Sunday.
On Day 2 of our workshop, Ralph had been missing for four days. This was our day to explore the first two steps of deepening resilience: noticing and accepting. We invited participants to tap into their feelings about the state of the world these days, and any related sensations that they might notice in their bodies as a result. And then, to do their best to make space for these feelings, as uncomfortable as they might be. If we want to move through our feelings, we have to allow them to move through us first, which is not always easy. Personally, I noticed that I was still feeling very distraught - worried about Marci and their son, Finn, and trying hard to ward off thoughts that we might never see Ralph again. I did my best to allow these feelings, while also being very aware of my need and desire to be present as a facilitator, to tap into enough energy to engage people and create the experience I'd been hoping to create.
Day 3 of our workshop was all about seeking support, building community, and rest. I smiled as people became otters, eagles, and tigers, embodying their mood. I relished the connection and laughed with my partner, as we dove into 36 questions (link). I shared about the power of community to help replace post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) with post-traumatic growth. I also cried. And tried to make sense of why they hadn't found him yet, wondering where he might be, whispering my inner mantra, “Hang on, Ralph.” Had he ridden to the campground where we'd all just been the weekend prior? Was he even in the area the parajumpers were looking? Did the drones have any hope of finding him, or the helicopters planes and 200 searchers? Between uplifting conversations and engaging activities, I felt plagued by Ralph's fifth day, aware of his dwindling odds of survival.
Day 4 of our workshop, the morning in particular, was focused on specific practices that build personal resilience. This is one of my favorite steps, and one that I truly love to facilitate. But on top of being worried about Ralph on his Day 6, and distraught by poorly-rendered AI images of him with his bike, I was also deeply distracted by the possibility of giving a character interview about him. I was honored, and a bit excited, but I was also pretty nervous and plagued with self-doubt. What would I say? Could I truly capture the best of his character?
Details were still being finalized as our morning session was about to start, so I turned off my phone to make sure I could focus. It was a powerful session. We explored the importance of regular practice, and played with various neurochemicals in our bodies, like adrenaline, serotonin, and oxytocin, that help us feel more alive. We sang and learned together, with no shortage of lightness and laughter. And then, when the session was over, I sat there alone, reflecting, breathing, being with it all - until I remembered my other life, and my need to schedule with the news anchor.
Chat message celebrating Ralph’s arrival home
And then it happened. As I turned on my phone, I saw a flurry of celebration:
Ralph was home, against all odds, and he’d even driven there himself!
It's a pretty amazing story (if you're interested, my favorite public update is here and more personalized details from Marci are on my FB page here). But that workshop experience offered me a gift - not only a step by step reminder of exactly how to build resilience in the face of adversity, but a powerful opportunity to lean on lightness and community to help me access a lighter side, regardless of the outcome. It taught me that joy isn't something we earn after we've solved our problems or received good news (though it has it's place there, as well). It's a practice we can choose even in uncertainty, especially when we're supported by community and intentional structure.
I used to think that making space for joy during difficult times was somehow disrespectful to the gravity of the situation. But I learned that cultivating lightness doesn't diminish our care - it sustains it. Without those moments of connection and laughter, I wouldn't have had the emotional resources to stay present for Marci, or to show up fully for the people counting on me that week. Joy, it turns out, isn't the opposite of taking life seriously - it's what makes taking life seriously, sustainable.
