I'm a fairly typical
twenty-something woman with a not-so-average dream: I want to talk to
high school and college-aged kids about consent and rape.
If you've met me recently, one of the introductory questions you probably asked me is what I'm going to grad school for, and why. Maybe my response startled you. In some cases, people have gotten really uncomfortable and left the conversation entirely, choosing instead to talk to someone with a more "conventional" career choice. I'm not offended when that happens; I expect it. My standard responses to strangers who are ballsy enough to ask why I chose this avenue are "Personal experiences" and "Somebody has to."
You
can probably imagine that this is not the career I dreamed of as a
little girl. But I take the "Choose Joy" moniker inked on my ankle very
seriously (obviously, since it's permanent). This odd career choice has a
lot to do with that way of thinking.
The last few months have been difficult, culminating into a long and agonizing summer filled with unexpected trials, grievous mistakes,
moments of "What the hell was I thinking?" and mountains of grief. I'm
glad it's almost over. But now I have this issue of what to do with the
grief that's left. The easiest thing in the world to do would be allowing it
to fester and grow into a heinous, life-eating disease that cripples not
only myself, but everyone I care about.
Maybe you know
someone like that: someone who survived something horrible, and is
forever crippled by it. The aftermath of their tragedy influences every
decision they make, and ultimately their very character.
"Choosing
Joy" isn't putting on a happy face, and masking the pain. Choosing joy
is accepting that the pain is real, it
sucks, and making use of it. Some people may take
up a self-defensive sport like kick-boxing. I decided to
write a book about it.
Choosing Joy isn't quoting some well-intentioned
but misguided bumper sticker that says "Everything happens for a
reason." That may or may not be true, but who cares what the "reason"
was? Does it make you hurt less? Does it make you glad the incident
happened, whatever it was? It doesn't matter to me anymore what the
"reason" was; what matters, is that IT MATTERED.
I've
heard it said that success is the best form of revenge. I agree, minus
the part about revenge. I can't say I've never fantasized about it: the things I could do to ensure that the person who made my life
hell experiences hell for himself. But even that doesn't undo the
suffering that was inflicted. What I'm more interested in is
preventing
irrelevant suffering. I don't want to play the role of a helpless
victim, a broken woman, or an irredeemable hot mess. I want to be
someone with a cause. The way of choosing joy is using suffering to
ignite the need for a cause.
It would be easier to do
nothing. It would be easy to sit in therapy for the rest of my life
wondering what I can do to "get over it" without actually doing
anything. Waiting for grief to pass is never going to happen. Sometimes you have to act in spite of what you feel.
If I sit
back and do nothing, he wins. Hands down.
Lately
I've come to believe that no true form of justice exists in this world.
But if the only alternative is to give up on pursuing justice
altogether, well, I can't do that.
I refuse to settle for that.
Choosing joy = choosing action.
