The first time I felt joy doing this, I was still in that confusing post-graduate haze where success looks like a neatly buttoned blazer, but you secretly feel like you’re playing dress-up. I was fresh out of my MFA program, working as a political speechwriter, trying to make my parents proud while simultaneously figuring out if I even knew what that meant for me. My days were a blur of coffee-fueled legislative jargon, and although I was good at my job—crafting sentences that flowed as seamlessly as Janelle Monáe on stage—it felt like something was missing. Something mine.

And then it happened. My moment of joy snuck up on me the way Beyoncé drops an unannounced album: unexpectedly, yet somehow, right on time.

When Words Became My Love Language

It was late, maybe around 10 p.m., and I was supposed to be drafting a very serious policy speech. Instead, I had scribbled down a few lines of something that wasn’t work-related—just a scene, an experiment. I don't know where it came from, but before I realized it, my fingers were flying across the keyboard. The more I wrote, the lighter I felt, like I was shedding some invisible weight. I was transported to a fictional world I was creating, a place where the characters spoke their truths and figured out life in ways that felt remarkably... familiar.

And then I laughed. Out loud. A real, honest-to-goodness, head-thrown-back laugh at an exchange of dialogue I had written between two characters. (It involved an auntie throwing shade at her niece for dating a man whose idea of fine dining was “steak night at Chili’s.” You had to be there.) In that moment, I felt pure, unadulterated joy because what I was doing wasn’t for anyone else—not a boss, not a professor, and certainly not for the approval of LinkedIn connections. It was for me. And after years of doing what I thought I should, I realized how incredible it felt to do what I loved.

Joy Looks Funny in Hindsight

Looking back, I want to grab 20-something-year-old me by the shoulders and yell, “Girl! This is it! Pay attention!” But, much like realizing your toxic ex was, in fact, toxic, some epiphanies only become clear with time. At that moment, I didn’t yet understand that joy isn’t always dressed up with applause or neon signs. Sometimes it arrives in sweatpants, taps you on the shoulder, and whispers, “Keep doing this.”

I didn’t quit my day job right away to start writing novels. I mean, I had bills and a family reputation to uphold; rogue careers aren’t exactly celebrated in southern Black households unless you’re already Oprah. But from that night onward, everything I did—every speech I wrote, every event I attended—felt like a step toward something bigger. There was excitement in the mundane because my passion wasn’t just a pipe dream anymore. It was the foundation of my future.

Joy, But Make It Sustainable

Here’s the thing about joy: You have to nurture it. Passion is great, but passion alone won’t sustain you when things get tough—and they will get tough. (Trust me, I’ve had plenty of staring-at-a-blank-page-with-deadlines-looming-and-wine-bottle-taunting moments to prove it.) What keeps the joy alive is commitment, effort, and showing up even when inspiration ghosted you like your last Hinge match.

Here’s how I stayed tapped into that joy without losing the spark:

  • Give Yourself Permission to Explore: If passion is Tinder, then joy is a healthy, long-term relationship. They’re linked, but joy requires more effort and less swiping. Don’t wait for someone else’s approval to start. If it feels good and doesn’t cause harm—or require a Ponzi scheme—lean into it.

  • Find a Routine That Works for You: Back when I was balancing speechwriting with my side hustle of creative writing, I gave myself a dedicated time slot: 30 minutes every morning where I could write anything that wasn’t work-related. The consistency was grounding, and every small thing I created was proof that I could keep going.

  • Seek Inspiration Abundantly: Creativity doesn’t happen in a vacuum. I read voraciously, binged everything from Angela Bassett interviews to “Living Single” reruns, and listened to Maxwell’s “Urban Hang Suite” too many times to count. If your joy feels stuck, don’t force it. Give it space to wander until it stumbles home.

  • Celebrate the Small Joys: Not every milestone has to be big and dramatic. Sure, I fantasized about Oprah’s book club sticker landing on one of my covers, but you know what gave me just as much satisfaction? Finishing a short story and seeing myself in it. Joy isn’t a destination, it’s in every step along the way.

What Joy Has Taught Me About Love

Now here’s where my story loops back to our beloved Publication’s raison d’être: relationships. Because here’s what I’ve learned from chasing my passion—it’s eerily similar to how love works.

Whether you’re falling for someone new or deepening a connection with a longtime partner, love requires attention, curiosity, and honest-to-goodness effort. Real love—just like real joy—isn’t about what looks good to the outside world or checking all the right boxes. It’s about what makes you come alive, what makes hard days bearable and good days even better.

So, whether you’re someone still waiting for your “aha!” moment of joy—or working on keeping it thriving—remember that the journey you’re on now matters. It’s shaping you in ways you might not fully see yet, but trust me, the seeds you plant today have a way of blooming when the time is right.

Embrace the Joy Hunt

If you’re wondering what brought you here, consider this your sign: it’s time to start looking for the thing that makes your soul let out a little hallelujah. Maybe it’s writing a poem, testing out a new recipe, or belting out “Love on Top” like you’re headlining in your bathroom. Whatever it is, don’t hold back, and don’t wait for it to be perfect. Joy doesn’t discriminate—it meets you wherever you are, as long as you’re willing to meet it halfway.

So go ahead, chase it down. Because the first time I felt joy doing this, I didn’t realize what it truly was. But now, every time I sit down to write, I know: this isn’t just what I do—it’s who I am. And that is a love story worth writing about.