Growing up has taught me something unexpected.
Joy is an act of rebellion. Not because life is terrible. Because life has a remarkable ability to convince us that we must earn happiness first.
Finish the work.
Pay the bills.
Lose the weight.
Clean the house.
Become the person you promised yourself you would be.
Thenβ¦
Then you can celebrate.
What if we have got it backwards?
Maybe joy is not the reward for surviving.
What if it is how we survive?
