Tuesday, September 23, 2008

Joy




Track-and-field was my sport in high school. I did a little of each: running middle distances, and lobbing the discus and shot put. It is a sport that revels in individual performance while allowing the camaraderie of a team. I still enjoy following track, especially during the drama of the Olympics.

If you watched the women's 100-meter sprint this year in Beijing, you saw unfettered joy in the face of the young Jamaica sprinter as she handily beat a field of her elders. If any thing is infective it was her tremendous smile. I could not help but feel glee in my heart as she paraded around the stadium with the Jamaican flag draped over her shoulders.

Her joy was spontaneous, but joy is not always instantly recognizable. At some point we realize that pleasure may be cultivated to be savored on another day. Several of my friends are living examples of this. Both over sixty, one selected the oboe and the other the cello to study. Their new skill has brought them much pleasure, but not without hours of labor.

This got me thinking about my daily existence. Why do I do things; why do I get involved; why do I nurture relationships; why do I do any of it? It should be obvious, it should be for the fun of it, but I will be the first to admit that I often do not have a clue. Nor am I sure I want to delve into it too deeply - it might ruin the joy.

Today (Sunday, August 17, 2008) I did several pleasurable things. I shared a nice cup of Darjeeling tea with my wife as we sat and read the Sunday papers. I met with my tea ceremony friends to work on a little bag called a shifuku. And I gently rocked in the swells as the sunset brilliantly lit the white hulls of the boats in the harbor.

All I did was wake up to put this day in motion, but as I write this I know that is not the whole story. In fifty-five years I spent twenty-seven of them in school, twenty-five years involved with the tea ceremony and have been on one boat or another since the age of eleven. In short, I have spent a long time cultivating joy.

I think this explains my reluctance to sleep. What must I be missing as my mind cycles through the stages of sleep? Unlike most of my colleagues, I enjoyed the never-ending call of medical training. In two days I would put in a forty-hour workweek and still have the whole week ahead of me. It was like living an extra life.

Was it worth it? It definitely was. A little adversity builds character. Just think who ends up being the most interesting at any event. Usually the people you think will be the least: the old-timers quietly sitting and watching the exuberant youth.

Once initiating a conversation with them you will hear of a career, a war, or a passion that has captivated them. You will hear a lifetime of experiences joyously retold. Granted their families have heard it all before, but that does not diminish the tale. It is the rich patina of a fine antique or the dust and mold on an aged bottle of wine. These are traits to be coveted and not white washed.

The Japanese culture has an affinity for mining the knowledge of their elders. In 2005 I traveled with our group of tea enthusiasts to Japan to cerebrate the forty-fifth anniversary of Chado Urasenke Tankokai Chicago Association. I was somewhat surprised to watch the interaction between the youngest and the oldest members. It was more than just respect; there was a real joy in their relationships.

My appreciation of the way of tea deepened as I watched them. A friend, upon reading an initial draft of this commentary, wrote to me that maybe joy is like a bowl of tea: complex flavors, warm and comforting while providing the space and time to savor memories. I cannot imagine a more fitting description.

Volume 5729 (4), 9/19/2008