The skill of joy
On living idealistically
Caleb Hearon is my favorite comedian.
He’s a Midwest king. He has a palpable love for his friends and community. He takes his art and his commitment to his fans seriously in such a silly and light way that I deeply admire. And he sees the world through a lens that is delightfully grounded and principled.
He posted this to his Instagram story last night, and it brought me a moment of clarity:
I wonder at what point so much of the world lost touch with the skill needed to see the joyful part of being a human. To turn your face towards brightness, not as an act of ignorance of suffering but rather a deliberate decision live with love anyway.
I really believe this is a skill that takes practice. Ritualized intention to mold your vision into something new. I think maybe this ease we have with slipping into anger, ego, fear, is a direct result of our joy muscles withering away.
I’m realizing that’s what I find so comforting about Caleb. Joy, for him, is a practice. It’s intentional. It’s a constant act of care for the world around him. His podcasts guests reflect the diverse and deep community of loved ones that he has cultivated across the country, and the people he welcomes with open arms. Comedians, musicians, the director of the Kansas City Tenants Union. Each episode ends with a genuine declaration of love and respect. It’s easy to mistake an insincere celebrity as honest, but it’s impossible to believe the sincerity between Caleb and his friends is anything but absolute.
I’m realizing this is also what I find so comforting about myself and the perspective I’ve cultivated over the years. I decided when I was 21 that I was exhausted living with a default state of anger. It’s been seven years of feeling for the lightness in every moment.
Like how today, when my doctor’s appointment went better than I was expecting, and I ran into a childhood friend in the lobby that I hadn’t seen in years.
Or the excitement in my husband’s voice when he talks about the fishing trip he’s going on with his friends this week.
Or how I’m reminded of the thoughtfulness of my mother-in-law when I slip the bookmark she chose for me into the book she bought me for Christmas.
Or how in the morning light this morning, my cat laid on my chest and I remembered that my grandpa visited me in my dreams the night before.
I wonder how often those that seemed to have turn towards cruelty ever think about these moments throughout their day. If there’s ever a pause, a consideration, of how they are experiencing the world.
There is a lot of anxiety in being a person who is constantly aware of themselves and the potential harm they are inflicting. But there’s also a lot of comfort in knowing that genuine care will always be your lasting impact.
I’ve been told, like Caleb, that this thinking is idealistic. I’ve fought against my own internal criticism that I am living with a naiveté that will ultimately be my downfall.
But I will echo the last two lines of his post:
“I don’t ever want to understand cruelty. I hope I never see violence as a foregone conclusion.”
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