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{Joy is a natural quality of being. It is different from happiness—deeper and more reliable. Infants and young children, when not distressed, are joyful as their “home” state. For adults, when not confused, simply being grateful for life contains joy. See more below…}
Two Kinds of Joy
“Always maintain a joyful mind.” — Lojong slogan, Tibetan Buddhism
This slogan is easily misunderstood. It is not a call to be happy all the time or to ignore suffering—our own or the world’s. What does it actually mean “to maintain a joyful mind”?
It helps to distinguish between two kinds of joy: the joy we feel when life is going well, and the joy available even in difficult times.
The first is the joy of enjoying life. It closely overlaps with happiness. When our experience aligns with our preferences—when we’re getting what we want—joy often comes easily. I say “often” because even when life is going well, we can undermine our joy by wanting more or by comparing the present moment to an imagined better one. Still, most of us recognize the joy of enjoyment: a spacious, uplifted, sometimes exuberant sense that “life is good.”
“Be joyful, though you’ve considered all the facts.” — Wendell Berry, poet
When we have “considered all the facts,” there are always reasons to be despondent; there is so much suffering in our shared world. The second kind of joy is subtler and just as important. This is the joy of presence—the kind available even in challenging moments. This joy arises when we stop measuring the present against alternatives and instead rest in what is alive in the moment. This joy comes from feeling whole and connected to life even when the situation looks nasty. We have a trust and faith that life is unfolding toward more life and we are a part of this unfolding. Even when the facts are currently disheartening we know deeply, in an embodied way, that winter leads reliably to spring.
Often, this begins by briefly stepping out of the story of what’s wrong and noticing something—anything—we can genuinely appreciate. Learning to pause and to notice the unhelpful thoughts we are generating can help us return to who we are without that problem.
But what about when we are deeply troubled? In moments of intense pain or extreme concern, expecting joy is neither helpful nor honest. Forcing joy is not possible. Sensing our distress, being with the truth —not fighting it—is wise. When this is not possible, we can accept that the sorrow is simply too much. Temporarily resisting “what is” can even be life-giving. Anger is healthier than resignation.
Our lived experience is shaped by how we direct our attention. By turning toward neutral or pleasant sensations—such as our breathing, the support of the earth, a color, the smile of a friend or a comforting texture—we can step out of thinking and enter presence. Joy is our home base—something that returns when distressing thoughts and feelings recede. This isn’t avoidance; it’s healthy self-regulation.
The world does not benefit from our constant anxiety or fear. These states are part of being human, but they need not define us. Some of us hold the belief that it is unkind or immoral to feel joy when others are suffering. Questioning this belief can be liberating. Taking responsibility for our attention is key to freedom and joy.
Joy, in this sense, is an inherent quality of being. When it’s not in the foreground, it waits patiently in the background. A healthy child naturally returns to joy once temporary distress passes. The same is true for adults who remain connected to life.
A Deeper Understanding
Impermanence is a central teaching of the Buddha. Paradoxically, recognizing that nothing lasts can be liberating. This insight must be felt and embodied, not just understood intellectually.
When we truly absorb impermanence, our joys deepen and our struggles soften. Knowing a flower will fade makes it more precious than even the most beautiful artificial one. Remembering that everyone we love will die—before us or after us—can deepen our appreciation of the time we share.
When we are distressed, remembering that this, too, will pass can soften our experience. We can acknowledge pain and grief while also turning toward something that touches the heart. Even in dark moments, some form of beauty remains—if we are willing to receive it.
Presence and impermanence invite us to open to the reality of our fleeting lives. One gift of meditation is learning to notice the small wonders that arise in each moment. At times, we will be overwhelmed by loss, sorrow, or the destructiveness we see in the world. And still, without denial, we can remain open to the quiet constancy of life’s offerings.
To stand for the natural joy of being alive is a gift—to ourselves, to each other, and to the world. Collectively, we need this now more than ever.
“Offer the mind of joy.” — Dōgen, 13th-century Zen master