What if joy wasn’t something we earned after we worked hard, cleaned the kitchen, hit the word count, paid the bills, or checked all the boxes?
What if joy was a daily rhythm—woven in like breath, not bolted on like a prize?
I’ve been sitting with this idea a lot lately:
What if joy is a habit, not a reward?
Not some far-off destination, but a quiet practice I return to every day. A way of seeing. A way of being.
Joy doesn’t have to be big or performative or “aesthetic.”
It can be:
• Stirring your tea slowly
• Choosing the playlist that makes your shoulders drop
• Letting yourself pause before rushing to the next task
• Saying no without explaining
• Laughing at something really dumb because it felt good in your body
For me, building a joy practice isn’t about “finding” time for joy…
It’s about giving joy permission to exist in the spaces that are already here.
And if I’m honest? Sometimes it feels rebellious.
Because the world tells us that joy is something you get after being productive. After being useful. After suffering a little.
But I’m not here for that timeline anymore.
I want joy in the middle of the mess.
In the mundane.
In the morning when nothing went right.
In the five-minute breath between tasks.
Even in laundry. (Sometimes. Sort of.)
So I’m starting to build a new habit. Not a perfect one. Not a Pinterest one.
Just a habit of noticing where joy already wants to show up.
Maybe that’s what this blog is, honestly—
A joy practice, disguised as writing.
A way to remind myself (and you, if you’re reading this):
We don’t have to wait.
Joy can happen right here.
Right now.
With love and a quiet rebellion,
Lindsay
🔥🦊
LitFox Flow 