Last week I went dancing.
Not because I needed the exercise. Not because it was good for my brain. Not because I wanted to meet people. Not because it would burn calories.
Just because I love to dance.
And that realization startled me.
Somewhere along the way I had stopped believing that “because it’s fun” was enough.
When Did Joy Need Credentials?
As children, we played because playing was the point. We didn’t play for fun. We played because it was fun. We disappeared into it. We lost track of time. No one asked us what skills we were developing or whether it was productive.
Then something shifted.
I didn’t dance because I loved to dance. I danced because it counted as exercise. I didn’t go for a walk because I enjoyed walking. I walked because it was healthy. I didn’t read mysteries because they delighted me. I convinced myself I should spend my reading time learning something that would make me wiser, more productive, or move my life forward.
Somewhere I absorbed the belief that joy had to justify itself.
If an activity couldn’t make me thinner, smarter, richer, or more successful — somehow it didn’t count.
When did that happen?
Why does pleasure need credentials?
Why do we constantly ask ourselves, What will I get out of this?
What if the answer was simply: joy?
What if fun were enough?
Witnessing Living with Joy
I’ve been observing my daughters who live with me.
One plans little weekend adventures. She cooks beautiful meals. The other dresses nicely every day, even when she’s not going out simply because it makes her feel good. They both create moments of delight in ordinary Tuesdays.
Their lives aren’t perfect. But they aren’t waiting until everything is solved before they’re allowed to experience joy. They simply sprinkle joy throughout their days.
Watching them, I realized something.
For decades, I organized my life around obligation. I remember standing in my kitchen at 10pm, finishing the last of the dishes, calculating how many hours until I had to be up again. That was my life. Not bad. Just... airless.
I had slowly replaced delight with accomplishment.
I began measuring my days by what I completed instead of what made me come alive.
And maybe that’s why I’ve been searching for this elusive feeling of aliveness.
The Moment Before the Dance Floor
But here’s what I’ve realized: it isn’t dancing that keeps me from feeling alive.
It’s what happens before I even step onto the floor.
I predict rejection before I begin.
What if no one asks me to dance? What if someone does and I’m terrible? What if I miss the signals? Step on someone’s feet? Look foolish?
So I leave. Or I don’t go at all.
My inner critic escorts me out before joy has a chance to arrive.
Not because someone else rejected me. Because I rejected myself first.
I told myself it was protection. But if I’m honest — it’s fear.
Fear of not being good enough. Fear of making mistakes. Fear of looking foolish. Fear of being seen — not just failing in public, but of wanting something openly and not getting it.
Whenever I begin enjoying myself, my inner commentator interrupts.
“You’re not very good.” “People are watching.” “You’re making mistakes.” “You look ridiculous.”
For years I believed that voice was protecting me.
Now I wonder if it has actually been protecting me from being fully alive.
And here’s the irony: everyone else is far too busy worrying about themselves to spend much time judging me. The harshest judge in the room has always been the one living inside my own head.
What Self-Abandonment Really Looks Like
We talk about self-abandonment as leaving ourselves to take care of everyone else. Ignoring our own needs. Saying yes when we mean no.
But sometimes self-abandonment is far quieter than that.
It’s allowing our inner critic to make our decisions.
It’s leaving before the music starts.
It’s saying no to joy before joy ever has the chance to say yes to us.
The Shift
The older I get, the less interested I am in organizing my life around obligation.
I’m much more interested in organizing it around aliveness.
Around dancing. Around conversations that stretch late into the evening. Around wandering bookstores. Around traveling simply because somewhere beautiful calls my name. Around creating a home that delights me every time I walk through the front door.
No one is grading me anymore.
But I’m not sure I ever believed that.
Maybe the sense of aliveness I’ve been searching for isn’t something I have to find.
Maybe it’s what remains when I stop abandoning myself.
Maybe joy never disappeared.
Maybe it was simply waiting for me to stop asking permission.
The Tarot Nook
The Empress
The Empress asks: What kind of life are you choosing to create?
The Empress doesn't ask whether joy is productive. She doesn't justify beauty, music, gardens, or good food. She simply receives them. She reminds us that a full life isn't measured only by what we accomplish, but by what we allow ourselves to experience.
Perhaps that's the invitation.
Not to earn delight, but to return to it.
As a Major Arcana card, this insight is about your whole life. Not just today. What are you choosing to create?