"Nothing Brings Me Joy Anymore."
A friend said it over coffee. I knew exactly what she meant.
My entire world had narrowed to the screen in front of me and I was oblivious to the people walking by on the sidewalk in front of me or standing in line behind me.
Until a coffee cup landed on the counter beside me and startled me out of my concentration.
I looked up to find a friend from high school smiling at me, someone I still ran into from time to time.
I slipped my headphones off and smiled back at her.
She laughed and asked, “How are you so motivated? Every time we bump into each other, you're working on something. What is this, another book?”
She nodded at my laptop.
“No, no. I'm not that motivated. This is just “work” work.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
I patted the empty stool next to me and asked, “What's up with you? What are you doing over here in NW?”
“Oh, you know, I'm just trying to mix it up. Trying to get out of my usual routine. Trying out a new coffee shop before heading to work.”
“Well, this one's the best, in my opinion.”
I picked up my coffee, took a sip of it, and raised my eyebrows above the rim.
She perched herself on the stool, looked at me, and said, “But to be honest, I'm trying to change up my routine because, I don’t know, friend.”
She took a sip of coffee, set it down, and leaned onto the counter. “Nothing brings me joy anymore.”
And in that moment, as women often do, even when we haven't seen each other for a long time, we went straight from the breezy "How are you doing?" to the heavier "Life is tough right now and here’s why."
I looked at her and waited.
“All the things that used to bring me joy…don’t. I used to love to make my house a home. To cook a meal for my family. And now I just don’t. I guess when the kids were little I loved to do those things because it wasn’t about the act of doing them. It was who I was doing them for.
But the kids have grown and moved on. I don’t see my friends the way I used to. My parents have passed. I feel like there’s no one to do those things for anymore. No one who would appreciate them.
And then I find you, and here you are, always motivated, always working on the next thing. How do you do it?”
I understood exactly what she meant. For years, many of the things I had once loved doing—setting a table, having dinner parties, working in the garden, organizing my home, planning trips, even writing—had stopped bringing me joy too.
“Oh friend, that's so hard. I get it. After the kids moved into their own lives and our sweet goldies passed away, I felt like I was wandering around in a mostly empty house. Many of the things I had done for years suddenly felt pointless. So, all I did was focus on work and the absolute necessities of day to day.”
“That’s how I’m feeling right now,” she said. “Just going through the motions.”
I nodded. “I've always been someone who loves organizing and making my house a home, but when I was feeling the way you do, I couldn't even do that.
I don’t know exactly what changed, but one day I got so sick of walking past a pile of boxes that had been sitting in our basement for years that I started going through them.
I came across this cookbook my grandmother had given to me when I was first married, Betty Crocker's Dinner for Two. I think she might have regifted it to me, since it was published in the 60s. She was thrifty that way.”
We both laughed.
“But flipping through that cookbook, I remembered how much I loved all those things when it had just been me and Dave. And before that when it was just me in my own place, and I cooked for myself. And I loved it. Somehow I had to find a way to get back to that feeling in this new stage.
This past summer I finally felt myself perking up to the old loves. Looking through recipes again, thinking about what I might like to make, who I might like to invite over. I found myself sorting through boxes and pulling out items I hadn't set out in years and arranging them on shelves. It started to feel good again.”
“Well, I hope that can happen for me too, because right now it just feels …lonely.”
“Aw, friend.” I reached over and gave her a hug. “Go easy on yourself. Some transitions take longer than we expect. I can’t promise when it will happen, but I don’t think the part of you that loved those things is gone. I bet she’ll find her way back to you.”
She stood up to leave. We promised to have coffee again and hugged goodbye.
After she left, I thought back to her question: How are you so motivated?
I wasn’t especially motivated. I had simply kept going long enough to grieve the life that had changed.
Then, little by little, I found my way back to the old loves.
A couple nights ago, two of my grown kids came for dinner with their significant others. Conversations were happening on the couch, at the table, out on the deck. People were wandering to the refrigerator for another drink. Everyone was dishing up around the counter and talking over one another.
The house wasn’t full in the same way it used to be.
But it was full in this new way.
Cheers,
Carrie