The First Time I Felt Joy Doing This

Growing up, I always thought happiness came in neat, pre-packaged forms. Like cherry blossoms in spring, it was something fleeting, admired from afar but never touched. My parents insisted that I could find joy in intellectual pursuits—art, history, a good cup of matcha on a rainy day. And for a long time, I played the part. I could write a brilliant essay about 19th-century ukiyo-e prints but struggled to answer how I really felt about anything. “Fulfilled” maybe, but “happy”? That seemed as mysterious as why that one ex kept watching my Instagram stories even after ghosting me.

It wasn’t until years later, standing in the middle of a museum, blue painter’s tape in one hand and a crumpled exhibit sketch in the other, that it struck me: I was elated. In that moment, surrounded by chaos and crates of fragile ceramics, I realized I’d found something that lit me up. Something that wasn’t just fulfilling—it was electrifyingly, almost absurdly joyful.

Chaos in the Gallery

Let me set the scene. I was midway through my first real curation job. The museum floor was a disaster zone. Imagine the set of an action movie, but instead of dodging explosions, we were avoiding priceless Ming Dynasty porcelain. My team was arguing over whether a vase should align with a painting of plum blossoms or be offset to create “tension.” (Spoiler: we went with tension, mostly because someone accidentally bumped a display stand.)

I should’ve been stressed—no one wants to be the person responsible for misplacing a $300,000 artifact. But as I knelt down to position the vase just right, I felt a sense of calm, then speedboats of joy rippling through my chest. I wasn’t just working; I was creating. The whole scene felt like putting together a puzzle where I already knew the picture, but the satisfaction came from the cleverness of assembling it piece by piece.

More importantly, it felt fully mine. In high school, I’d sketched flower arrangements for my mom’s clients, always careful to mimic what had been done before. As a university student, my essays were more citations than personal voice. But here, in this gallery of chaos, my decisions shaped everything—how people would see and feel. This wasn’t outward success. It wasn’t “doing a good job.” It was entirely inward: I liked the person I became when I was in the middle of it.

Where Passion and Joy Collide

The thing about joy is that it often sneaks up on you. I wasn’t expecting to feel it while haphazardly tying twine around an oversized vase—using more string than I’m sure Nikkei journalists have ever written about—but the sensation was undeniable. In hindsight, I’ve realized something: joy and passion aren’t always the same.

You can be passionate about something—writing, teaching, emulating the "main character energy" TikTok trend in your everyday life—and still not feel joyous doing it. It’s like dating someone who checks every box on paper but still leaves you wondering why your heart feels stuck in airplane mode. Joy, on the other hand, blindsides you. It’s when you find yourself humming while doing the dishes or laughing at your own bad joke. When you stop needing approval, perfection, or a hashtag-ready moment to feel good.

Finding Joy in the Everyday

If you’re still not sure what truly brings you joy—I get it. We’re inundated with the idea that passions are dramatic and loud. You have to drop everything and become a calligrapher in Kyoto or start a Michelin-star-worthy sourdough business. But joy isn’t big and dramatic. It’s often found in the smallest, most ridiculous places, like:

  • Rearranging your furniture because suddenly you needed the couch to face the window, and now afternoon sun bathes everything in gold.
  • Finally nailing a playlist that perfectly matches your mood on a 6 p.m. walk home, one that feels like the soundtrack to your personal indie movie.
  • Wrestling with something difficult, whether it’s a relationship talk or a tricky recipe, only to discover... wow, that turned out better than you imagined.

Action step? Give yourself permission to experiment. Watch how you feel when you’re deep in a task. Does time blur in that addictive flow state, or are you eyeing the clock like you’re stuck in a bad first-date monologue about their kombucha brewing hobby?

Joy as Connection

Another truth bomb: joy doesn’t exist in a vacuum. During that exhibit setup, I wasn’t alone. My colleagues—annoying as it was when one kept humming off-key—were a crucial piece of the puzzle. Joy, I realized, wasn’t just about where the vase landed or my personal moment of artistic genius. It was about sharing that almost-cosmic alignment with others.

This same idea applies to relationships. We tend to focus solely on chemistry at the start—does this person excite me? (Also, do they know the plot of Your Name, because if not, is it even worth?). But sustaining joy means being with someone who adds those little moments of connection to your life, whether it’s texting you a meme when you’re stressed or joining in your disastrously bad at-home karaoke.

Remember, you’re not just looking for sparks; you’re looking for light.

Pursue Joy, Not Perfection

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned—whether in gallery curation or life—is that chasing joy depends more on showing up than waiting for lightning to strike. Sometimes we get paralyzed trying to achieve perfection—the perfect date, the perfect career, the perfect pasta carbonara (seriously, I’ve ruined three pans attempting that creamy consistency). Instead, focus on those smaller, imperfect moments where your heart stretches wide open.

What surprised me that first time in the gallery wasn’t just a sudden awareness of my own happiness but also how startlingly enough it felt. We’re often conditioned to think that happiness must be larger-than-life—perfect, immediate, Instagrammable. But joy is quieter, quirkier, harder to pin down. And you’ll know it’s real because you’ll stop caring what others see.

You’re Allowed to Celebrate the Little Things

The overarching lesson here? The “big moment” doesn’t have to look like an epic rom-com climax where someone runs through the rain. Often, it’s as mundane as tying twine around a vase or holding hands with someone while deciding what toppings to put on your shared pizza. Life is a patchwork quilt of tiny victories, weird coincidences, and bursts of joy in unexpected places.

So, whether you’re arranging flowers, wandering through art galleries, or just trying to reorganize your apartment for the fifth time because this time you’re sure it’ll spark something—you’re allowed to chase joy on your own terms. No pressure for perfection, just patience with yourself.

Start with curiosity. Let your joy sneak up on you like an out-of-nowhere hug on an otherwise normal day. You'll be amazed what you can create when you’re not trying so hard to make it perfect.