What does it take to be joyful?

I pose this question to myself as I sit opposite my husband at our local café/playground. It is a beautiful spot, framed with gum trees and filled with casual weekend vibes. It’s a pleasant 30-odd degrees, the kids are playing, and I have a latte and the paper. It is a picture of the idyllic Saturday morning for our family.

Quite different from the scenario earlier in the week when I had endured a severe case of gastro overnight. As I lay in bed, hoping to get some relief, my four-year-old daughter came and informed me that Daddy had now been sick too. So as I was the better of the two of us, I hauled myself to the lounge room with the minimal aim of ensuring no children injured themselves. Inevitably, a few hours later, one of the children succumbed to the illness. Several loads of washing, much Glen 20 and Hydralite later, I collapsed into bed. What a contrast. 

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a millennial in the prime of their life must be in want of a new hobby. From indoor plants to preserving foods, paint-by-numbers, smoking meats, and birdwatching (ahem, that is a raven, not a crow), social media takes great joy in making fun of millennial hobbies. Yet by the time you reach the end of this article and can quote at least three scientific names for orchid species, you and I will be the ones laughing… Probably at ourselves.

Have you ever seen that series of photos which show elderly people looking in the mirror and seeing the reflection of their much younger selves? Nurses, soldiers, young brides; I find those photos utterly heartbreaking. Within the decaying body and mind is a vibrant youth screaming, “I was young once.”

I’m writing this on the cusp of my forty-second birthday. Only in medieval times would I be considered ‘old’. I have relatively good health and a lot to be thankful for, but recently, I’ve found myself looking at photos with melancholy welling up inside me.

This is me. Running. Feet pounding the pavement as the sun rises, warm breath clouding the cool morning air. Music beating in my ears—wakening my brain from the haze of sleep. I take my time. I extend my route on a whim. I sprint the final stretch home. I stretch my limbs. I watch the news while getting ready for the day.

My top suggestion for “what to bring if you’re coming to visit the Middle East” is…. silicone earplugs. Not foam ones. Silicone putty ones, that you use for kids with grommets who go swimming. I speak from nine years of trial and error to find a way to a good nights sleep. Sound pollution is not a concept here.