Used & Vintage Luxury Bags

After all, when we see depictions of joy it is often ecstatic joy--"I won the lottery!" joy or "everything in my life is so perfect!" joy. What I think of, and feel, as joy is quiet. It comes to me in hard times or in bright times, in lonely times or among friends. It comes on suddenly sometimes, unexpectedly taking hold of me for a moment, and sometimes I can feel it coming gradually over the course of days. When it arrives, it does not often long endure, but however long its moment is (a minute, an afternoon), in that period I am happy to be alive--happy even though I know I'll die and all that I love will end. Happy because I stop being afraid or anxious and feel free in myself, in the world, and at peace with it.
Feeling disgruntled at the fact that I  had to rush for the commuter train. I took the last spoonful of yogurt. And suddenly tasted the perfectly ripe fig that I had picked the 2nd hand designer bags evening before for this very reason, stealing it from the birds who'd gladly feed on the backyard tree. The tarnished spoon caught the light of the rising sun. This warm and safe home with is book-lined walls.

Great moments of joy are wonderful and to be relished while they last. But I’ve found that what actually keeps me going isn’t the meteor in the sky, but the stars that come back every night. I feel it’s like collecting seashells while walking along the beach. Stringing those little things together and admiring them on recollection. It really is a muscle, and through periods of darkness and anxiety I’ve found that the muscle unused goes limp.
I could hear the breeze through leaves, a small whistling bird. And then I saw my children’s faces, clear and smiling. They add up, keep you in fine balance if you just acknowledge them. And they push the darkness away when you most need them to. I also have an unendangered, full life but joy can sometimes escape me.

They reassured me we'd be back in just a day or two, so I packed the essentials (three changes of clothes, five changes of underwear, and an espresso pot) and followed them to Shreveport. At first we cheered, because the storm passed and left the city unharmed in its wake. It seemed that yes, we would be back in a few days. Shortly thereafter we watched, cracked open to the roots of ourselves, as the levy was breached and the engorged river swept into the shallow bowl that cupped New Orleans like hands. Much later we were to learn that CNN, after eyeballs rather than accuracy, was not making a distinction between floodwater to the rooftops and a few inches in the streets when they reported that "80% of New Orleans is flooded". Our neighborhood, blocks from the river and sitting atop the only natural high ground, had been spared.
Not in the hippy interpretation of quantum mechanics that “everything is a vibration,” but in a purely figurative way. Some people’s instruments are tuned in certain ways, others in different ways. Some have strings that has never been used. No-one has played all the tunes on their instruments - it is always new songs to be written and played.
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My joy first and foremost is in my family. My partner  Tim and our three incredible children, Elias, Billy and August. This joy is not only the laughter and the  hugs but it is also the lessons they teach me that bring me closer to who I am. Up second would be knitting and reading books, preferably in nature.
It is definitely within my relationships with those close to me, to whom I have a responsibility towards, and I “step up” to that responsibility in a meaningful way. If this is reciprocal it is a source of huge joy. It works best if you don’t presume an entitlement to it. This extends to the wider world of mostly well intentioned others trying to connect and feel part of something, to belong.

I gave your question a lot of thought. The easy answer would be "my partner" but it's not as easy as that, but it also is. I've been through a lot of trauma and I never thought I would experience joy again. Then I met my partner and she was the key to unlocking my joy.
I watched a crack in the ceiling and wondered whether it was structural, and as I lay on the floor, doing my breath exercises, I considered preparations for my survival should the roof collapse (I would hide in the corner, of course). The roof didn’t collapse, and I got up and shared raised eyebrows and astonished head shakes with the other Pilates folk, and I ran out and down the street and collected little pieces of hail in my hair. I often search for joy, and fight for it, and grasp at it, and I haven’t cracked it. But in the meantime sometimes it turns up in the most unexpected of places.

May seem pragmatic, but I have found that one can only replicate moments of joy momentarily, and perhaps find a fleeting sense of solace in those moments. Yet if we let go of the seeking, and just embrace the randomness of life, there will be moments of true joy, and those will be the moments you will remember. I was widowed after an intimate relationship of 45 years.
I know when the foxes will start walking closer to the house. I know which trees the crows prefer. When these things unfold just as expected, I feel a little how I imagine a midwife must, a coaxing witness of nature’s casual miracles.
Each piece is carefully selected to ensure it meets our standards of quality and style, so you can look fabulous without the high price tag. I lost my father a week before Wild God was released. I find comfort in each and every song and I feel guilty because I also find joy. I am supposed to be sad in mourning and I am, but I also am relieved because he is free of suffering and free of pain. I picture him as he used to be, not as he became when the disease ravaged his form.