I used to think joy only counted if I shared it. That it wasn’t real unless someone else was there to see it, agree with it, feel it too. Then I took a trip that changed everything.
Living on Pause
I’ve lived “on pause” more than I care to admit. Waiting. For the weekend. For my family’s schedule. For the stars to align so joy felt fair. Waiting to be asked, invited, included. Waiting to share something beautiful so it wouldn’t be wasted or misunderstood. But one crisp morning in Italy, I chose to press play on my own life.
An Unexpected Yes
It was a group orientation trip for newcomers. A bus ride downtown to Vicenza, and then a train to Verona. It was meant to be cultural immersion, a soft welcome to the rhythms of Italian life. I signed up alone. My family was busy, and for once, I didn’t rearrange my schedule to match theirs. I didn’t stay home and wait.
Saving Joy for Someday
I do most things with them. I wait to explore until we can all go. I save the joy, the good food, the fun stops. I pause. Even though I have more flexibility in my day, I put it on hold out of habit and love and yes, a little fear. What does it mean to taste joy without sharing it? Is it still real if they weren’t there to witness it?
Unshared Beauty
But that day, I tasted things they couldn’t enjoy. I laughed at things they didn’t hear. I marveled at balconies spilling over with flowers, at cobblestone alleys that felt like whispered secrets. There were moments so exquisite I knew I wouldn’t be able to explain them. Not because my family wouldn’t listen, but because joy, this personal lives in the body. It doesn’t translate well.
Both-And
And here’s the strange truth: I missed them. And at the same time, I didn’t. I missed sharing the beauty, but I didn’t miss the pace. The compromise. The back-and-forth of deciding where to go and when. I didn’t miss toning down my excitement to make the moment feel even.
Meeting Myself
I felt something ancient and new rise up in me that day: autonomy. It didn’t shout. It didn’t fight. It just…welled up. And I let it. I acknowledged it. I let myself enjoy something, fully and without apology.
That, I realized, is a boundary.
A Quiet Truth
Joy doesn’t have to be a shared event to be valid. It doesn’t need a witness or a caption or consensus to count.
Joy that doesn’t perform is still joy.
And it’s not selfish to seek it. It’s sacred.
A Question for You
So I’ll ask you what I had to ask myself that day:
What’s the small joy you’ve been denying yourself because no one else was available? What would it mean to stop waiting and start living on purpose?
You don’t owe anyone your pause. You deserve your play.
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