Easter, 2021.
The children are in Sydney, and I in Castlemaine. It feels a bit out of context, abstract, spending Easter without them. A disembodied experience of sorts.
The Castlemaine festival is wrapping up beautifully, the weather is heavenly, the town is bursting with actions and opportunities: giant Scrabble battles and epic theatrical performances here, open studios and exhibitions there, music, free and not, appearing regularly. Every pub has a few gigs, unusual stages appear in parks, reserves and streets.
We played a concert on a reactivated car park, the warming up looked like this, was joyful and the general feel was extremely positive.
Yet I feel unsure.
Warm feelings give place to confusion, and the need to brace myself for any self confidence bubble to be busted. What did I miss, what did I not pay attention to? Joy seems a somewhat selfish feeling.
Brene Brown writes about foreboding joy, bracing ourselves for disaster as a classic armor strategy. We refuse to express and experience joy because joy, and the inescapable loss of it, exposes us as being vulnerable. When joy leaves, or is taken away, it leaves us vulnerable to disappointment. Hence, when experiencing joy, we’d rather brace for disaster. It seems safer.
Could it be the other way? Could the longing, the pursuit, and the experience of joy be a diversion from exposing ourselves to our own vulnerabilities, a fragile attempt at avoidance? Are those two propositions even any different?
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The antidote to foreboding joy, she suggests, is to practice gratitude.
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I feel grateful for my children to be safely celebrating Easter with their mother in Sydney.
I feel grateful for a beautiful evening filled with support, talks, walks, random encounters and wholesome connections.
I feel grateful for my parents, calling me from France, and loving me.
I feel grateful for a different Easter experience.