A Haunting Joy

She had something, something it seemed I didn’t have, something I really wanted.  My memory of noticing the joy, present in her but seemingly absent in me, haunts me -- in the best of ways -- to this very day.

Over 200 Christmas-garb-clad souls gather in the clubhouse for our small mountain town’s Annual Christmas Tree Lighting event each year. Whilst waiting for the countdown to the tree-lighting, we all buy raffle tickets and squeeze our way around each other to view the various offerings and put our tickets in cups for items we hope to win. One year my husband and I won a sled, another year, some children’s toys and a groovy scarf. And let’s not forget the ornate stacked boxes of flavored popcorn we won, along with a wood ornament, engraved with the words "Green Valley Lake."  

 

The crowd nibbles Christmas cookies and sips hot drinks, visits with each other, says hello to Santa and Mrs. Claus, and though the space can get stuffy, the air is festive! All are merry, all are bright, and with my soul, it is well --

-- well, but for the angst I put myself through deciding where to place my tickets, in a sense, what to put my hope in, then trying to hear whether my number is called and, seemingly most importantly, whether I won. There is the buildup of excitement and the "Maybe, maybe, maybe," thoughts, followed by the disappointing announcement that whatever number was just read out was not mine! I take half a breath then force a smile and with weak hands applaud the winner of the (fill in the blank…cord of wood, hot cocoa set, Christmas throw, restaurant gift card).

Carolyn, whose name I did not yet know, was draped in a beautiful red silk gown, with sparkles and furred, fluffy edges. Her smile sparkled twinkled more brightly than the rhinestones adorning her dress. Of course red and silk and sparkly and festive all caught my eye.  But more noticeably, she displayed something that couldn’t be bought then worn, a more from-the-inside-out something. 

 

When a number was called and the winning ticket holder made their way to the table to claim their prize, Carolyn’s smile grew wider, and her joy for them shown in her eyes.  Joy bubbled up rom inside her.  With glee she applauded as the winner was announced, and she seemed truly happy for each person, as though she, herself, had nothing invested in the game.  As though she, herself had won.

 

As though.  Can I live as though my hopes are not placed in outcomes? Can I live trusting that there will be enough for us all, whether you win or I win in that moment?

 

As though the good that happens to you happens to us all?

 

I walk back to the cabin beneath an inky, star-strewn sky, hearing the crunch of snow beneath my booted feet, holding something beneath the surface of me more valuable than any raffle prize.  Gloved hands empty and tucked into my parka's pockets, but heart full, I want for nothing, except for what Carolyn has (and I don’t mean her gorgeous dress, though that would be lovely). 

I breathe deeply the frigid mountain air, and its crispness brings stark clarity to my thoughts.

Maybe I already have that kind of joy!

I found joy 

in seeing Carolyn’s joy 

in seeing others’ joy 

as they won their prizes!

If joy is indeed contagious (and I am increasingly believing this to be the case), I want to keep noticing it, catching it, and, best of all, spreading it. I want to have and share the kind of joy that seeps into your being, that causes others to notice, a joy that haunts you -- in the very best way.