How I cultivate joy in everyday moments
By Anchel Krishna
Self-care is a bit of a buzz word.
Is it a bubble bath (gah!), taking time for "yourself," eating healthy, exercising, calling a friend, getting away, or enjoying nature?
Parents of children with disabilities are told that self-care is a must for them, a survival tool.
But I struggle deeply with the idea of self-care as a simple, one-off task: "Check, buckets refilled, all systems go for the insurmountable to-dos that come with parenting a child with complex needs."
These days, I'm starting to see self-care as something that needs to be woven into our lives.
One of the most accessible forms I have found is joy. In fact, I would go so far as to say I am cultivating it. Looking for moments, big and small, where I can weave it in to my every day or simply noticing that something that seems mundane can actually stir up feelings of happiness.
This way, when things are hard, I can remember something good is coming. And when things are good, I can pause, soak them in and store those feelings to draw on later.
Here is what that looked like on an ordinary day this week.
I got into the car and decided I wanted to listen to music. But instead of picking the artist or the album or the exact song, which is what I usually do, I let the algorithm choose. So much of my life is about control. In the car, on that drive, I decided to let loose and let the algorithm be in charge.
It knows me, so of course a song I love came on. I turned it up. I sang along. And within the safe limits of a bucket seat, a seatbelt and both hands on the wheel, I did a little dancing.
The joy was in three things at once. The music itself. The nostalgia I felt because I associate that particular song with being on vacation. And the act of not being the one in charge.
My natural setting is to think about what is next. I'm a planner.
Between appointments, medications, coordinating therapists, school and extracurricular activities, the mental load of running our home, along with a full-time job, my brain lives a season ahead most of the time.
That habit of racing ahead has a cost.
It means I can move through a whole day and forget to notice the moments that will make up my memories. The morning light. The sound of my daughter Nal humming while she gets dressed. The way my daughter Syona laughs when she makes a joke and none of us know what she is talking about. Or the song that plays.
All small things, and that is exactly the point. Most of what I recognize as joy in my own life is smaller than we tend to expect it to be and available in everyday experiences. It is not another thing on my to-do list.
I’ve intentionally set aside my first early moment of joy every day. My morning tea, which I steep for a full 10 minutes. I drink it as hot as I can. And if I pay real attention, I notice that it tastes slightly different from one day to the next. That small daily variation is what makes the tea more than tea. It roots me. It is the one thing in the morning I am not trying to optimize or coordinate with anyone else. I am just there, with a hot cup, noticing.
On mornings I skip it, I feel the difference all day. I’m rushed and moving in autopilot.
I used to think of routine as the opposite of joy. Something adult and dutiful, in contrast to spontaneity. I have come to see it differently. For me, routine is often the shape joy takes. The small predictable tea ritual helps me notice a small pleasure.
With practice, I often catch myself smiling when drinking my tea or dancing to music in my car. That, to me, is how I measure a joyful life: happiness in the middle of traffic or at home in the early morning hours.
I hold on to those moments, available every day, to keep me in the present and to build stamina for what is to come.
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