A few years ago, Marie Kondo exploded onto the scene with her five-step method of decluttering. The main point was to only keep that which sparks joy. In theory, this was great advice for cleaning out a closet. But the things that bring one joy can change throughout the years. As we grow, so do our needs and wants. When I was younger, I thought that having a boyfriend would make my heart sing. All I craved was a boy to fall madly in love with me. I’d wish upon the first star every night: Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight…which was always a boyfriend. And then I got one. And surprise: that which can bring great joy can also bring great sadness.

During my childhood, I took ballet lessons. I love to dance. Dance sparked joy. I feel free on the dance floor and love expressing my emotions through movement. I was good at it. I didn’t have to think; I could just be. In college, I taught ballroom dancing as a side gig. I went clubbing to bars like The Industry in Pontiac, Michigan. I spent hours dancing at that club, drinking flaming blue Ferraris, watching the fire disappear up my straw, and then turning to help my girl Virgie when she instructed, “Hold my braids,” as she drank the drink of fire. As an adult, I try to dance, but who has the time or money? Adult ballet classes are expensive. I’d love to go to the dance clubs in town, but I’m nervous I’ll end up on someone’s TikTok with the hashtag #MOMDANCE. And to be honest, I don’t want to dance to current music. I want to dance to the music of the 80s and 90s. I want to be transported through music to a time when I could eat whatever I wanted, without worrying about my pre-diabetic blood sugar level. But this dancing queen now comes with strings attached.

When I was young, nothing sparked more joy in me than succeeding. I was always ready for a competition. Be it a spelling bee or a trivia contest, I would study to win. Just like Ricky Bobby said, “If you’re not first, you’re last.” Now, I can see that it was my lack of confidence that sparked the competitive side in me to prove that I was worthy of praise. It’s easy to stand out in a graduating class of 120 students. But once I was released into the general population, I realized I was not exceptionally smart. I didn’t know it all. In fact, I could barely scratch the surface.

I was always chasing happiness, always trying to get to the greener grass on the other side. Happiness was elusive. It would materialize in front of me for a hot second and just when I thought I had achieved it, it started to fade away slowly, like Homer Simpson when he disappears into the bushes. Much later in life, I realized I was constantly trying to make myself happy with outside artifacts like food, money, and external approval. These things would never fill the hole I felt inside. An episode of Oprah once had a guest speaker, Rabbi Shmuley Boteach, from Shalom in the Home. He shared that we can never find peace until we learn to fill the hole in our soul from the inside. External material possessions will temporarily fill the hole, but the hole returns and the person feels empty again. Only by finding inner peace can the void fill up permanently, sparking eternal joy. 

I think everyone has a hole in their soul. Everyone has loss and feelings of insecurity. For adoptees, we have our own baggage and our own hole carved out by abandonment, isolation, and feelings of inadequacy. Adoption is not the answer to someone’s infertility or failing marriage; in fact, adoptees come with more questions than answers. We are not a quick fix to a couple’s issues. We have our own issues to battle through. 

Now, I find joy through thoughtful introspection (made possible by years of therapy). It’s been a long road to get to this point in my life where I don’t feel the dull ache of yearning and uneasiness. I especially find joy in my relationship with my husband. Our marriage hasn’t been perfect, but I’m proud of where we’ve been and where we are now. I am loved and accepted for who I am and feel lucky to have a partner in life. 

I still love to dance and find moments at live concerts to dance in the aisles and feel the joy of my youth. And while I’m still a bit competitive, I’ve learned the value of supporting others and experiencing joy through success as a team. I don’t have to be the best, nor do I see it as a realistic goal. I am fine with my imperfect self and do the best that I can with what I’ve got. There are still those moments I stumble, moments I don’t think I’m being a very good sister, or mother, or wife. But I’ve learned to give myself a little grace. I continue to fill the hole in my soul from the inside.