Finding Joy - by Michael Binchy

The bell has gone, school is over. I walk through the bustling halls, getting jostled by the crowd of excited students and arrive at my locker. After entering my code wrong twice, I finally open it and put my books away. I look through my journal to see what homework I have. Nothing much, easy enough. I pass through a mosh pit of people trying to unlock their phones. I wait for my phone to turn on, then I put in my earphones, shuffle my playlist, and go home. There will be a cup of tea, toast, and an episode of House waiting for me. I’ll enjoy that for a while, do my homework, do an online maths grind, have dinner, then I’ll be free.  

I enjoy the structured day of school - the fact that at any point, you know where you are, where you’re going next, and what you’re going to be doing. Nowadays I try to plan everything I do, because otherwise I find myself worrying that I’m not using my time effectively.  In school it’s just a task of getting through the workload, and I’m fine with that.   

Maybe I’ve become institutionalized.  

Where do I find joy? I had too many answers to think about. Going to a friend’s house knowing shenanigans will ensue, trying to ask a Georgian taxi driver in Estonia where the best local restaurant is, or the beauty of the only time the gong player landed his beat on time in a symphony with the orchestra. I couldn’t cover them all. So I thought about what is it that gets me through the everyday. What is it that keeps me going? 

On Mondays after school I have Model United Nations. Twenty teenagers in a classroom behaving like they’re at a UN Assembly. Sometimes it is serious. Every speech feels like a funeral eulogy, owing to a heavy topic or a lack of issues with a resolution to be debated. Or you might have the Uzbek delegate saying how we should ship our nuclear waste to Tashkent and launch it into space, build the death star while we’re at it. Every two months, people dress up in formal outfits and gather in another school to debate on a grander scale. There are different committees with different areas of debate: people who can perfectly disassemble the most rounded argument leaving the crowd dumbfounded in amazement; people who look like they’re about to pass out from fear when speaking, leaving everyone trying to pretend that they don’t notice; and people who could vaporize from their seat and no one would bat an eyelid, because they haven’t said a word all conference. My favourite committee is ECOFIN (Economic and Financial), generally considered to be the most boring. People complain that it is too complicated, but if I feel lost with nothing to say, I can analyse each point, and there’s usually a detail to be improved upon. Maybe a date is unrealistically soon, a clause is too vague, or I can see the point that someone was trying to make but it isn’t presented very well. The atmosphere is somewhere between seriousness and absurdity, discussing complex political issues while eating the dreariest Spaghetti Bolognese you’ve ever tasted.   

Every day I walk the dog. She isn’t the brightest bulb, and I’ll never understand what’s going on inside her fluff-filled mind. She could spend forty-five minutes walking down the estate, sniffing everything in sight. But she always manages to find something exciting in sights I’ve long since tired of, and makes the same route that I walk with her every time an adventure, for both of us, because I’m really the one who’s being walked, being dragged around her spontaneous doggy escapades. 

Aside from my school week, I find one thing that always gets me through my week is having something to look forward to. It can be big or small. Maybe I’m going out with a friend on Saturday, or the orchestra’s coming back, or my family are going on holidays, it doesn’t matter. The important part for me is that there is something fun in my imminent future that I can anticipate. Something where I can remind myself that I should push through whatever I’m working on because there is a reward in sight. And if there isn’t something, I’ll make something. If I haven’t seen one of my friends in a while, I’ll text them, and we’ll make plans. 

The part of my daily life that means the most to me is music. I’ve been doing and enjoying it for most of my life. In orchestra there’s the social element, I get to see friends I probably wouldn’t see outside of the circumstances, and having someone who can relate to the arm cramps you get after playing for three hours makes it much easier and more fun. And it means that my schedule is dominated by something I enjoy, rather than something I’m bored of. And piano is difficult, but I always know that if I stay committed and take it step by step, there will be a point, maybe far away, where the piece I’m playing will click, and then all the work pays off. 

The key element that keeps me going and prompts me to derive joy in my daily life is the routine. I find that when I repeat something on a daily basis, it makes it feel like time is flying: I blink and suddenly a week has passed. That repetitiveness can be seen as drudgery, but I am always vigilant for the happy moments in my life as I go through it. And this means that no matter how long the week may feel, I’m never dreading the next day, as I know that there will be plenty of moments where I will find something to smile about and can start looking forward to these moments. 

If I can make a shape of the daily chaos of life and I can find enjoyment in each day, it means that I can go on content. And when July eventually arrives, I can cast off the shackles of my ritualized, boxed-in life and walk into the distance, finally able to say that it is over, there is nothing left to routine. And then, I can safely say I have found joy.