Choose Joy: On Death and Life and My Women’s Circle

My mother’s sister died a few days ago. We knew it was coming. This time last year she was given just months to live. She stuck it out, smiling as always, for a whole year, only getting really bedridden and sick in the very end, and finally succumbing this last Monday. As it was unfolding over the last weeks, and as it was happening this last weekend, and since it has now happened, I’ve been thinking more than anything about how important it is to choose joy in life. And even in death.

Choose Joy

My Aunt Cory was a happy woman. We weren’t close, so I don’t have a ton of detailed memories with her, no late night girl talks or one on one get to know you betters, but our extended family is close, and she’s been in my life since the day I was born.

She and I have always just been on opposite sides of the spectrum. She is an extremely devout Christian woman, married with two grown boys who each willingly undertook a baptismal process as teenagers.

I was the troubled child, the oldest girl in a big extended family of mostly girls. I was the black sheep. I cheated, lied, stole, was very free with my body, and have always rejected all mainstream conceptions of God. All from a very young age.

Needless to say we didn’t go see movies together or have Sunday brunch.

But she was always always unfailingly kind to me.

She was always quick with a laugh. She sought out reasons to be happy, reasons to smile, reasons to choose joy.

Little Memories

I barely knew her, but when I was pregnant with my oldest child and my mom was visiting, she joined us for some maternity clothes shopping, just because she happened to be free and the universe happened to bring us all together on that day.

I barely knew her, but if she was free, she always made it a point to drive the thirty minutes north to my house for one of my kid’s parties or for a family get together at my house.

I barely knew her, and she was in the process of dying, easily susceptible to all kinds of bacterial and viral infections in her weakened state, but she came to my one year old’s birthday party last January with a mask over her mouth and nose.

This woman was kind and thoughtful. She was what you think of when you think of kind and thoughtful.

Mourning

I have trouble mourning. I am not a morbid person. I am the exact opposite of someone who dwells. I don’t hold grudges or worry over things past. I don’t second guess myself or live in a state of guilt. I never have.

I process my emotions through the arts, writing, music, speaking. I go to the dark places, the sad places, with art, because that’s what art does for us.

Jeremy

When my high school boyfriend died in a drunk driving accident, I took it all in stride. I reasoned that he partied himself to death. He knew what he was doing. Yes it was sad for his mother and his loved ones. Loss is sad. But he lived a wild and crazy life, and he died a wild and crazy death. Then one day weeks later, out of nowhere, alone in my car, I broke down and sobbed hysterically to music on the radio. I sat there at the curb, and I slammed my open hands on the steering wheel and let my body purge all of my feelings of loss and tragedy. He was 19.

Carlos

When my cousin committed suicide a few years ago, I was strong for my grandmother and my aunt. I wrote about it. I worked through the logic of suicide, I felt relief for his ultimate release. He was in so much pain. I only cried when I stood up to deliver the speech I gave at his funeral. I stood there reminding the many devoutly religious people at the service, so sure my cousin was in hell, that he was a creature of nature, that he would be found now among the lizards and the waves of the ocean. The emotions came with the words, and tears filled my eyes and my throat. He was 27.

Cory

Now with the death of my aunt, I have experienced much the same logical process. She got to watch her sons graduate. She lived a long and full life with the man she chose as her life partner. She built the life she wanted to build and loved in the ways she wanted to love. She gave every single day of her life in countless ways. Her work here is done. She’s gone on to the next adventure.

That is how I see life and death.

The Lessons of Death

But I think that in every life and every death there is at least one lesson, and often many many lessons for us to learn.

The lesson I have learned from the death of my aunt is just how important it is to choose joy. Her sister, another aunt of mine, recently told me that my Aunt Cory had made peace with dying. “But I just don’t get why now? You know, I really wanted to watch my sons get married, have children.” She was thinking of all she would miss.

Yes, we all die. And when we die, there are things we will miss, at least in these physical bodies. Looking death in the face, we cannot help but think of those things.

But the thing I’m most focused on with this death is the absence of regrets. Of course we will look forward longingly, but will we look backward regretfully?

Will we wish we had enjoyed our lives more? Jumped more often, tasted more, touched more, given more, taken more?

I barely knew my aunt, but I don’t think she was looking backward in that way. She spent a lifetime seeking peace and happiness, choosing joy.

And in honor of her life, I choose joy every single day, and I will continue to choose joy. And I will continue to help others do the same.

Especially women.

My Women’s Circle

Last night was the fourth circle I have held since I decided to start a women’s circle for joy a few months ago.

Last fall I was inspired by a company called WomanSpeak to become a leader. The idea of a women’s circle has always been fascinating to me. I love the think of women coming together to share, to laugh, to cry, and to wipe each other’s tears and help stiffen each other’s spines.

I believe women are unstoppably strong. I believe women contribute to society at every single level. I believe women are queens. I also believe that many of us have forgotten where we placed our crowns.

Unfortunately, my relationship with the company I had decided to lead with did not work out. As my time to begin promoting my circle neared I got cold feet, and I quickly realized that I didn’t want to follow a curriculum, I didn’t want to charge the fee required, and I didn’t want to have to “stay on topic.”

Too Many Don’t Wants

I wanted a free flowing, affordable, lighthearted, circle of laughter and joy. I wanted women who want to get happy, but couldn’t figure out how to do it alone to come find happiness in the circle. I wanted women who were so happy in so many ways, but found themselves stuck in some other ways to find release in the circle. I wanted women who were joyful and wanted to spread their joy to contribute to the circle.

So I started my own. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. I had zero interest in the circle. Every single one of my friends basically said “meh.” I had no clue how the hell I was going to make it happen.

I Chose Joy and I Did It Anyway

“Fuck it.”

That’s basically what I did.

I said “fuck it,” and I created a flyer, with no site, no clue, and no women.

My dad has a pool room at his condo complex, so I figured I’d use that until I found another site.

The bottom line is that I was inspired to start this circle. I was inspired to go it alone. I was inspired to jump in with no members, no support, and no clue.

And I have learned to trust my inspiration.

It has never been about the other women. I never wanted my friends to join the circle to support me.

It is not a “support Shanna” circle.

I wanted, and still want, women who are genuinely looking for a regular happy place, to find it in the circle.

And circumstance after circumstance has proven to me that I’m right.

No One Came

Yea. Not one single person showed up on my first night.

Worse still: my dad never came through with the pool room. It’s literally his to access whenever he wants. All he has to do is put in a request and get the key.

But that’s my dad. He waited til the last minute, and there I was without a site.

But I didn’t sweat it.

I had generated some interest in the circle, a few people joined my Meetup group, a few emailed me from my social media posts. But no one could make it that night except for one woman.

And then she didn’t even make it. I got the text at the last minute: “Sorry! My husband is stuck in SF, and I’m here with the kids!”

So there I was, sitting outside the pool room, in a lounge chair next to the pool, on a lovely summer night, holding a sacred circle by myself.

Missing the Point

I could have been sad. I could have been angry. I could have felt depressed, or frustrated, disenchanted, or disillusioned.

And many people would have pitied me, patted me on the back, shook their heads.

“Maybe it’s just not your thing.” They might say.

“Maybe it’s just this area.” They would reassure me.

“Maybe it’s because you charge a fee?” People would wonder.

But no one pitied me. No one patted me on the back. No one reassured me or made suggestions.

Because I didn’t tell anyone.

Because the point was never about getting people to show up.

It was, it is, about me showing up.

I believe in myself. I know I am doing what feels good to me. I know I am acting on inspiration. And I trust that the women who belong in the circle will find me.

Magic Is Real When You Choose Joy

Magic has been all around me my whole life, and even more since I’ve made the change in my life, gradually over the last year, to always reach for love, to always choose joy.

I call it magic. You might call it God, the universe, spirit, energy, whatever.

Indeed, I call it pretty much all of those things except God. And that’s only because I have issues with the mainstream concept of God.

Pure positive energy.

Magic.

Just hours before my first circle, when no one showed, Renee Rettig, the lovely owner of my local bookstore, Books on B, offered up her shop as a site for my next circle.

Five women came to that circle.

From there, another local business owner joined my circle.

She came to a circle I held in my living room.

While she sat in my living room, she offered her own business as a site.

A big, beautiful, open space that used to be a bank. A historical building that has stood in Downtown Hayward for 100 years. It is steps from my house.

Women from all over have inquired about the circle.

One time I had just one woman in my living room. We drank sparkling water and shared stories, and when we finished up as my family came in from the pool, my daughter walked her to elevator.

Last night there were three of us in the bookstore again.

We made each other laugh, we talked about death, and we walked each other toward joy.

I have chosen joy. I have told the women who show up to my circle: “I will be here. I am here. I will hold this circle because it brings me joy to do so.”

“Come,” I tell them. “Be part of the circle if you want it to bring you joy as well. And if you find joy here, come back.”

Full Circle

So I come back to my aunt.

Full circle.

We women spend our whole lives giving. We give. We serve. We love. We go. We do. We collapse at the end of the day only to be woken up by a teething baby, a feverish six year old, a drunk teenager needing a ride, a restless husband tossing and turning.

And still we find the joy in it all. The joy we find in our love for others.

“I am grateful for the baby to hold in my arms.” We say, so spent from all the holding.

“I am so happy to be in love with this man.” We say, reminding ourselves that his pain in the ass tendencies are human, and that he loves us for our pain in the ass tendencies too.

“I love my work.” We say, fucking exhausted and overworked from the combination of career and home life.

It’s real joy. My aunt chose joy throughout her life, and she is exemplary of so many wonderful women I know.

“But I can’t _________________.”

Insert the thing you cannot possibly do for yourself on the line.

You don’t have time for the bubble bath.

Too busy for yoga.

Can’t leave the kids to go see a movie.

I Was that Woman

I was that woman for so long.

Until Celaya got a bit older, and then I had Matilda, and I felt my sanity slipping and my identity disappearing.

Yes, I was still joyful, that deep soulful joy from loving well and being well loved.

Right around this time I heard this amazing author talk about her new book on how motherhood is “all joy and no fun.”

Screw that.

I needed to remember who I was.

So I remembered to take the baths.

I ditched my husband with screaming kids to go to yoga.

I kissed my family goodbye to go sit in a movie theater alone with my popcorn and Raisinettes.

I Started the Circle

And that is who the circle is for.

It is not surprising to me that I have had more older women than younger women.

Many older women have finally given up on the idea that they have to serve everyone else except themselves.

But I have had a few younger women come around, express interest, show up, stay, share.

The women’s circle for joy is for all the women out there who finally toss the kids at dad, grandma, uncle or aunt. The women who understand that we find ourselves at our best when we can feel vulnerable, exposed, raw, open, and can feel celebrated for being so. The women who want two hours to themselves, away from family, with other women, ready to explore all the parts of themselves that, as they blossom, allow them to find the fun in life.

Allow them to believe in magic.

Allow them to see the magic unfold.

Allow them to choose joy, choose more joy, and then choose joy again.

And in the end, no matter who shows up on which night or where it is, I’ll be there.

Choosing joy.