Writer’s block is a real thing. Lack of creativity is a legitimate thing talented people suffer from. The way that life comes at you, one would be remiss not to question whether you are on a reality show, being filmed by a jokester who is punking you because surely…This can’t be life?  There are so many emotions one feels in a day. From not wanting to get up to go to work in the morning all the way to wondering why in all the damn world won’t your terrorist and mutineer argue with one another in a room you are not napping in. Especially since they happen to be arguing over a toy that technically belongs to their father and yourself because we bought it anyway. Ah I digress! Parental adulting have shown me so many things that used to erode my happiness with fatigue and unexpected events until I was left hallow with lackadaisical habits.

Recently, now that I am out of the heedless cloud of disarray, only one phrase resonates with me. Count it all Joy. The phrase popped into my head recently when I called myself getting over some disappointing information that devastated me and decided that I wouldn’t look at the situation with malice but would be happy and know that there would be something magnificent that would transpire from the unfortunate events. The phrase continued to pop into my head. I am aware that it comes from a mindset I have heard multiple times, but it stayed in my mind this time not because of what I have learned about it. It has been what I witnessed of it.

My mother and grandmother have been the best examples of living their life through that principle that I am merely reverting to the principles handed down to me from the two women that poured their spirits into me all these years.

My Glama has always been a woman of staunch, spiritual, and moral principle. A matriarch that is trail blazing and was always a decade ahead of her times. She graduated high school early and left her hometown of Bunkie, Louisiana and became a nurse early in her career. She worked diligently until she became the director of nurses at a pediatric doctor’s office in St. Louis, Missouri. A modicum example of true black excellence and a renowned display of black girl magic before we were brave enough to call it by its name. My grandmother is a lovely woman. She has always had a kind word or no words at all if there isn’t anything good to say toward life, family, and life experiences. She is a glamorous woman and brilliant in her own right. Never heard a bad word spoken about her because she is a woman that has always been kind and helpful to everyone with a smile and pleasant demeanor to admire in a woman.

I can remember watching my grandmother cook large meals and make sure everyone eats. Never curse and laugh until I can watch tears leak from the creases in the corners of her eyes. Giggles of joy whenever there is a joke spoken. Lovely. She truly is lovely. Her scolding of my childish attitudes and tit for tat exchanges always led to a conversation about being wonderful toward people no matter what. Give yourself time but don’t you ever act and behave like that. Never involve yourself in anything that isn’t good. She is a true joy maker. I speak a lot about her ability to joyful and fun to be around no matter the moments of agony or despair. Her classiness of how she handles life is ancestral and regal because she was always aware that she needed to show joy and love no matter what life circumstances because we were watching her, and we need to see the right thing to do. A trick that was clearly modeled for her. Always a smile and kind word out of this one. A quiet wise woman whose earrings I fell in-love with as a child.

Then there is my mother. Loud and jovial in a manner of her father yet as stunning as her mother, I watched her too.    Always an act of genuine kindness with that one. Her mantra…’I will do anything I can do to help you. But if I cannot help you, I will never hurt you.’ Words that will always dwell within my spirit. My mother’s a nurse that is a master crafter, who has been known to moonlight as a carpenter. She can do anything. A handy woman who sews, knits, and can renovate a home. She has always shown me that there isn’t one way for any woman to be. Magic in the palm of her hands.

She is passion cloaked as a lady.  Her laughter loud and full of pure joy. My mother is a natural homebody who sat around and painted her toenails, does her crossword puzzles and reads the best books. When I was a child, I considered watching her get dressed to the nines. I would come through her perfume bottles and play in her makeup thinking, this woman is regal. She would often emerge from the closet with her long gorgeous red curls combed through and tumbling about her shoulders, wearing a Smokey bedroom eye, with popping red lipstick. Attire and poise every bit as timeless as the pictures I saw of my Glama’s pictures when she was around the same age. ‘There is just something about those Clayton girls.’

My mothers have shown me that joy comes from within. That never allowing life to have your joy no matter the trials is a choice. You can wallow in misery or you can keep living and count it all on joy. ‘You can do anything you put your mind to Ericka Ann,’ I often heard growing up. I still believe it. Joy is finding a hobby and mastering it until you are great at it. Joy is playing solitaire on a Saturday morning, cooking for loved ones, and long talks with friends. Joy is inner peace and positive words spoken no matter circumstances and situation. Joy is giving of yourself selflessly when others are in need and never regretting it no matter the outcome. Joy is a joke during emotional storms to form smiles of laughter and change the weather. Joy is an obsession with smiling, feeling beautiful and it is usually self-induced. Joy can save you from a life of lack luster if you realize that paradise is in your mind and what you make of it. They are really lovely women. Just lovely.