No joy

Why is it that the older I get the more I find myself uttering the words ‘no joy’?

As a writer/actor, you often need a quick refrain that can be used to bat off optimistic questions like: “any news on the audition?” or “did you hear back about your script?”.

‘No joy’ just works.

It answers the question while being vague enough to ensure people don’t notice that, inside, you’re crying into a pillow.

But if you think about it – no one should ever say the words ‘no’ and ‘joy’ together. If we aren’t pursuing things that bring us joy, then why are we pursuing it at all?

Unless, of course, you’re a sadist – and if you are I respect that and wish you well in your painful pursuits.

Not that you even need to consciously pursue joy – it can, and should, come from the little things too: music, film, theatre, art, poetry, a good meal, a walk or a cheeky biscuit.

‘No joy’, then, works in common conversation but also as a state of mind. A quick response to move a conversation along or an overwhelming feeling that seems to staple shut all ability to enjoy anything – even the things you once loved.

So, get a hobnob (not you, sadists, I mean the biscuit) and read on as I consider whether it’s possible to drop the no and find the joy – or if no joy is simply a symptom of getting older and jaded.

JOYS R US

A good place to start is childhood. A happy, optimistic time. A time of encouragement and, usually, of getting your own way.

Hopefully for most of us, reflecting on childhood is all those things. It is for me – no complaints*.

*See next week’s blog for my analysis on that refrain.

I genuinely hope you too had 15 or so years of fun, laughter and getting your own way. But it is a misleading start to the proceedings.

Life isn’t all fun, laughter and getting your own way. In fact, a lot of the time it’s a grind. It’s doing what you don’t like to fund what you do like.

“You’ve got to have the inconvenience to have the convenience”, as my Grandad would always say.

Never a truer word said.

A particularly golden period in this young lad’s life was my college and early London years. 16 – 24 or so.

And I mean golden in the sense of ‘fond’ here. I’m not referring to my naïve response of “but we haven’t got any champagne” to the question “do you want a golden shower?”

Why is that decade so warmly recalled? Why do I nostalgically reflect on it all the time?

Obviously because I was fit and everything was easy.

But also because it was fuelled by the optimism of youth. Little did I realise that unwavering optimism was coupled with and anchored to the hidden deceit of reality.

I knew I was a writer because I’d been writing since I was 8. I knew I was an actor because being on stage, and in particular making people laugh, brought me so much joy. Both things came instinctively, too.

I never even considered that my dreams wouldn’t come true. They weren’t dreams anyway. During this time I was already writing plays, taking shows to Edinburgh, touring the country and filming stuff.

It can’t be a dream if it’s reality.

But when reality hits, it hurts like a three-star review – sure, everything’s ok, but it’s nothing to shout about.  

And that happens, I think, to all of us.

Everyone I’m sure can reflect on a time when they liked/preferred how they looked (admittedly or secretly), had aspirations they felt would materialise and deeply believed they’d get their own way.

Alas, no. Eventually, you have to grow up.

JOY CON

Not everyone sets off in life with a clear idea of what they want to do or who they want to be. But most of us set off to find that rush of dopamine associated with things that bring us joy.

Whether it’s working all week to enjoy the weekend, working all weekend (as was my case in a basement bar in Soho) to enjoy a couple of days off in the week (usually drinking back at the bar I worked in), going on dates and staying up late. You just find what you like and do more of it.

But that doesn’t last, or rather, what once worked starts to get boring. Repetitive. It stops meeting expectations. You need more.

There’s no ladder to climb to find success as an actor. Most actors never even find the ladder – and the lucky ones that do find it’s missing the middle eight rungs.

So instead you have to bounce your way around, fumbling in the dark for something else that brings you joy.

Slutty dark rooms, of course!

I jest. But you put a lot more attention into other things because you need more than the allure of an endured struggle all your life.

You hit late twenties, and telling people you work in a bar to support writing and auditions no longer sticks. People arch an eyebrow. All the while your friends have grown up.

And realising that changes everything.

I suddenly felt terrified of being left behind – so I got a grown-up job. But I strived to keep it simple. Strictly and stubbornly. I didn’t want to be a manager; I didn’t want to get a promotion.

Growing up was simply a means to an end.

But growing up does allow for some new joys. It welcomes holidays, shopping for clothes occasionally, day trips and dinners out.

The original source of joy – that natural go to thing that’s at the core of your very soul and is literally your everything, can be numbed in exchange for a go on Space Mountain and a gin and tonic by the pool.

That’ll end well, right?

JOY STORY

So we’ve established in this cheery assessment that:

a/ life isn’t much fun unless you’ve hit the big time or made the big bucks, and

b/ it’s the same for everyone else.

Getting older = getting jaded.

I think that’s an unfortunate inevitability. And I think there’s a level of wallowing self-obsession that’s particularly unique to those of us who don’t have children. Something that perhaps fast-tracks this inevitability all the more. And, as it goes, that tends to be mostly gay men, a club of which I am a member and so are most of my friends.

If there’s no one else that means more in your mind than you do, and you still aren’t getting your own way, then of course that’s going to lead to petulant strops. Blogs like this.

Woe is me.

So it’s important, if you’re in the same childless boat, to not give in to the cries of poor me.

I mean for a start our boat’s a lot less noisy and smelly. Silver linings, see?

And it’s when I sit down to write pages for this blog that I reflect on the moments where I still find joy as a mid-thirties creative caught up in a corporate world.

It’s realising that despite the upheaval – I’ve continued to find the energy to carry on creating.

Ooh, note to self – write pitch for Carry On reboot – “Carry On (pro)creating”.

It’s trite to say – but it is important to be (a bit) kind to yourself (occasionally). Those moments when the cloud’s roll in and it feels like nothing’s happening – when it feels like it’s all inconvenience with no convenience in sight – just have a little word with yourself.

Rub the back of the you inside that’s crying into a pillow and say: “Hey, come on. It’s alright.”

They’ll appreciate it.

Although the mind lurches instinctively to the negative as we get older – that positive, sprightly you that doesn’t want to grow up is still in there. Wearing a Topman t-shirt, flirting their way about town with the drive and talent to smash anything and everything.

I know he’s still there for me – how else have I found the energy to hold down a grown-up job for eleven years while simultaneously writing and pitching scripts, shooting sketches and staging new shows?

Just as I did in those ‘halcyon’ days of ages 16 to 24. Actually, do you know what? Maybe everything’s just as good/shit as it ever was…

To summarise: it’s not easy, it never will be, but that’s no excuse for being miserable.

Find the joy – like you used to do so perfectly well. Keep rediscovering the you inside, the joyful, happy, optimistic you that can do anything. Anything.

And exploit them for all their worth – just like you would your child on social media when they do well at the school sport’s day. Because if you’re like me, you won’t get the chance to exploit anything else.

Maybe it is true what they say, maybe life really isn’t about the destination. Even though I thought years ago I’d have reached my destination, wherever that was, by 22 – how boring it might’ve been if I had.

If it is about the journey, let’s at least fill the car/clean air hybrid electric bus with fellow joy-seekers and have a good time on the road.

And if there must be one, then I suppose the destination should be to just reach a certain state of mind that can be maintained. One that, when the day comes and our life is eulogised, the words “no joy” aren’t found in any speeches or on anyone’s lips.

DL x