Joy - A Poem About Happiness

Dear Reader,

Last week I wrote Stamps On A Passport. I wrote all about traveling for joy, rather than meeting others expectations. And ya’ll as you know the last week of my European backpacking trip was about chasing that bliss, about listening in and seeing where I was truly called to go. And I ended up having the best last two days of backpacking possible. Both days consisted on 10 mile walks, wild nature trails, blue skies and Italian food, and I remembered how much joy travel brings into my life.

Not surprisingly, I wrote a big old poem all about joy in my little leather notebook, and I want to share it with you!

So here we go…as always, I’m leaving it raw and unedited, messy and full of the bliss present as I wrote it! Hope you enjoy!

Joy is

alcoves sheltered

from the wind,


perpetually too cold

to write,


in bathroom stalls,

Pee breaks,

by fisherman’s boats,


of warm focaccia,


stinging with tears,

And waves that crash into the shore

like little boys colliding with their grandfathers,

as they rush off the bus to hug them,

unable to tame their eager joy.

I am eager too.

Joy is,

closed walkways.

They are wiser,

than my eager body.

Joy is,




Joy is,

Florence and The Machine

blasting in my ears,

a phone turned on airplane mode,

and no need to turn it back on.

Joy is,

chomping on carrots

and talking to myself

as I skip down

mountain paths.

Joy is,

salt water

sprayed on toes

and sea air

gulped lovingly

into lungs.

Joy is,

a pen that moves

unwilling to stop.

Joy is,

stopping that same pen

to take in the moment.

Joy is,

gazing into a mirror

and discovering beauty,

awakened by happiness:


flushed cheeks,

crazy hair,

runny nose,

goofy smiles

and sparkling eyes.

Joy is,

hands finally warm enough

to write,

and skin,

kissed by sun

it had almost


Joy is,

trails that “open”

just for you,

and fences

that are too easy to hop.

Joy is,

sweaty, tired feet

doused in sea water

and massaged by sand.

Joy is,

shady spots to sit.

Joy is,

attempting to breath again,

like you did as a child,

without weight,

Joy is,

finding places

that make breath easier.

Joy is,

thinking you’d write

a pretty good book

of poetry.

Joy is,

cat sanctuaries

on seaside mountain tops,

and cats that meow,

like your grandma, with dentures.

Joy is,

putting the pen down,

to pick it up once again,

Joy is,

only going where you’re called,

even when you’re called back home.

And joy is,

setting back out once again.

Joy is,

solo travel,

and the ability

to do whatever you please.

Joy is,

being held,

after so long without touch.

Joy is so many things.

Joy is opposites and


Joy is hoped fors

and unexpecteds.

And Joy,

is a dance

you share

with your heart.

So, there you have it! I really have nothing else to say, I feel like that big long poem does the damn job! I hope you love it! It brings me joy to read it. May it inspire you to search for and write about your own joy! Please share your words and experiences when you do!

With love,