Joy Wears Groucho Marx Glasses

Last night, I danced the night away on a Toronto rooftop with 500 other women at a sober rave. The bass pounded up through the floor, spreading from our feet to our hearts. We moved, sang, drank slushies, laughed. We connected.

It was joyous.

In the way that people often think of joy. It was loud and boisterous and … obvious.

There are quieter joys in life.

I love slipping into used bookstores. Breathing in the musty, paperback smell while I look around till I get a good feeling from a dilapidated book by an author I don’t know. A Velveteen Rabbit of a story, ready to be loved by someone new. Being that someone is a quiet joy.

Do you remember going to the library when you were a kid? SO. MANY. BOOKS. And you got to read any one of them that you wanted. They just gave them to you. For free! I would spend hours wandering around the shelves like I was at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A little Enid Blyton? Don’t mind if I do! Agatha Christie? Yes please! Roald Dahl? Sure, I have room for a giant peach!

I still get that slightly breathless wonder walking into a library.

Thrift shops are my jam. (Stick with me, I’m going somewhere with this.) Sometimes, I’ve got a pretty clear idea of what I am looking for; sometimes it’s a fishing expedition to see if there’s anything that hits the trifecta of cute, in good condition, and in my size. Other thrifters out there will know that spark of joy when you find something. The thrill of the hunt, I call it.

Research can bring you that same joy. It’s a jolt of recognition: yes, there you are! You’re the precedent that bolsters my case. You’re the textbook that will teach me about the issues to watch out for.

There’s also joy in collaboration. Courthouse library staff work with legal professionals every day. A junior lawyer comes in with no idea where to start and the librarian guides them to the right textbook. A more experienced litigator flies in from the courtroom looking for a particular section of the criminal code immediately, and the librarian finds it. They collaborate with library patrons to enhance access to justice on both the macro and micro levels.

Receiving and giving support can be its own form of joy. Many courthouse libraries in Ontario have quiet rooms or areas for users who need them. A librarian can show an overwhelmed lawyer to a place he can collapse for a moment before getting back on his feet and back into the fray. Or, when she’s the one who’s been through the ringer, she can call a colleague in another county and let someone lighten her load.

We rarely describe a day at work as joyful. We reserve the word “joy” for cinematic, dancing-on-a-rooftop moments.

But joy wears many disguises. It hides in any number of quieter, more ordinary moments. The wonder of a library, the discovery of used bookstores, the anticipation of thrifting, the satisfaction of making or collaborating in a research breakthrough, the fulfilment of giving and receiving support.

Let’s take off its Groucho Marx glasses and give ourselves permission to recognize and enjoy it.