Secret weapon

A week or three ago I did one of those silly quizzes on Facebook, you know, the ones that tell you which US city you should live in, how bitchy you are, which TV character you share a party style with, which adult beverage you are most like, etc, etc. ad nauseam.

What? You've never engaged in such fool time wasting? Well good for you. You're more disciplined than I. Possibly you have a less mind numbing job too.

But anyway, this post is about one of those silly quizzes that has actually stuck with me. (Full disclosure: Portland, 44%, Jesse Pinkman (!), beer.) But this particular quiz has done more than stick with me, it's got me interrupting old patterns, questioning my ability to change my reactions, and thinking in new ways.

Seems crazy, right?

The quiz was titled "What Is You Spiritual Power?" The friend who posted the quiz on her timeline ended up with Patience. With a capital P. Although I knew full well that that particular spiritual power was not my spiritual power, I was curious to know what was.

Turns out, it's Joy. With a capital J.

I scoffed at first. Joy? Me? I'm 44% bitchy, remember? And should be partying with Jesse Pinkman. Joy?

But as the minutes, then hours went on, this idea of Joy as my spiritual power stuck with me. Joy is a sort-of super power isn't it? We can choose it at any time. It's entirely up to us. It's there for us to use, free for the taking. Why not be Joyful? It's sort-of contagious too. You can spread Joy. You can receive Joy. Why not create it, then share it, or take some from the laughing toddler, pouncing cat, or puffy white clouds that kinda look like deformed rabbits?

By the next day I caught myself saying to myself, Joy is my secret weapon. When I realized what I had done, I had to laugh. I had subconsciously tweaked my power into a weapon. Some inane social media quiz had me pondering the power of using Joy as a "secret weapon" in my life.

But could I? I am not always Joyful, that's for damn sure. I can be downright dark and stormy; mopey and weepy. But I can certainly get there, if I try. At least most days.

Why not keep Joy in my hip pocket and pull out that badass motherfucker when needed? Or better yet, only relegate it to the linty dark corners of my pocket when absolutely necessary.

Failed family Christmas photo.