The First Time I Felt Joy Doing This
We all have a story about the first time something completely unravels us—in the best way. For some, it’s their first kiss. For others, it’s the first time they successfully make a soufflé without it collapsing into a sad puddle of egg regrets. For me, it wasn’t a kiss or a baked good. It was something entirely unexpected: the first time I let go of every cultural expectation I’d been carrying and wrote something completely, unmistakably me.
Not a research paper, not an op-ed that hit all the intellectual beats, but an unapologetically honest story about love, loss, and walking that tightrope of being from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It’s the kind of thing that only someone who’s argued in Arabic with their grandmother while simultaneously trying to explain why escargot isn’t terrifying to their cousins back home would truly understand.
The Moment It Happened
I was sitting in my cramped London flat, staring at a blinking cursor on my laptop. It was mid-November, and the kind of dreary rain that soaks through four layers of clothing had settled over the city like a bad mood. My task? Write something—anything—for the local community arts zine I’d promised content to. The deadline was two days away, and I had nothing. Nada. Rien. Zilch.
I thought back to my first real heartbreak, a situation made worse by the clash of my Egyptian family’s expectations and the more laissez-faire approach to love I’d absorbed in Paris. It was cinematic in the worst kind of way. Picture a split-screen of me crying into a bowl of lentil soup on one side, and my well-meaning aunties WhatsApp-ing me pictures of their neighbor’s eligible son as though that would fix everything on the other. (Spoiler: it did not.)
Somewhere between laughing at my own silliness and trying to dry my laptop keys—yes, the crying had dripped over—I realized this moment, this heartbreak, was the story. It wasn’t perfect, but it was raw and real. I started typing furiously, pouring out anecdotes about being caught between cultures, expectations, and my own clumsy attempts at love. Was there a moral? Kind of. Was it properly punctuated? Questionable. But for the first time in years, I wasn’t chasing perfection. I was chasing truth.
And that, my friends, was my epiphany. Joy isn’t perfection; it’s courage dressed up as chaos.
Why Joy Sneaks Up on You When You’re Not Looking
Looking back, I realize why that moment mattered so much. Up until then, I’d been writing the way I thought I should. Overthinking every line, every choice, trying to prove myself. It was like hosting a dinner party where the main meal is anxiety, garnished with a pinch of self-doubt. How could I enjoy it?
But when I let go of the idea of impressing anyone—readers, editors, my own overly critical inner voice—I found something revelatory. You know that scene in any good rom-com where the main character finally stops pretending and does The Thing, whether it’s running to the airport at the last minute or performing a wildly embarrassing karaoke rendition of “Total Eclipse of the Heart”? That was me. Minus the karaoke.
There’s joy in doing something not because you have to, but because you can’t not do it. It’s when you stop asking, “Will this please someone else?” and start asking, “Will this feel true to me?”
Takeaways: Finding Joy in Your Passion
Maybe for you, joy isn’t writing. Maybe it’s stand-up paddleboarding, or knitting, or finally learning to fold a fitted sheet without wanting to set it on fire. Whatever it is, here’s what I’ve learned about unlocking that deeply personal, surprisingly sneaky kind of joy:
- Ditch the judgment. Whether it’s your own or someone else’s, it’s the ultimate creativity killer. Joy loves freedom, not filters.
- Look for the mess. That first attempt might feel raw, awkward, or weird. So what? Lean into the mess. That’s where you’ll find the real heart of things.
- Don’t wait for validation. If you wait for the world to give you permission, you’ll miss your moment. Do it because it matters to you. The rest will follow—or not—and that’s okay.
- Share it anyway. A funny thing happens when you put your vulnerable self out there. Some people won’t get it, and that’s fine. But others, usually the ones you least expect, will tell you, “Me too.”
What That First Moment Taught Me
When I finished that piece for the zine, I didn’t think much would come of it. But the responses I got blew me away. There were strangers sharing their own stories of balancing family traditions and personal independence. A man messaged me about how he still hides his love of literature from his parents because they think he should focus on his “serious” financial career. A woman said my story inspired her to take up photography again after years of stashing her camera under a pile of bills and responsibilities.
To this day, I can pinpoint that moment as the first time I realized writing wasn’t just something I did; it was something I could offer the world. In that story, I found myself—and found a way to connect to others in ways I never expected. Isn’t that the secret to joy? Unapologetically being yourself and discovering that the world is full of others trying to do the same?
A Note for You
Wherever you are in your journey—whether you’re circling around your passion, still testing the waters, or embracing it fully—I invite you to take a leap. Leave perfection behind. Chase the chaos, embrace the mess, and see what comes out on the other side.
Who knows? You might find a version of yourself that surprises you. You might even find a bit of joy.
And who doesn’t need a little more of that in their lives?
