Joy Is Medicine
I did not plan to run a scientific study at the Hillcrest Farmer’s Market but here we are.
I recently spent a Sunday at the market for the first time. It was a VIIIIIIBE! No surprise, I mean… for those of you who do not know, Hillcrest is the heart of San Diego’s LGBTQ+ community. It is colorful, expressive, diverse as hell, fiercely local, and deeply rooted in small business and neighborhood pride.
The farmer’s market was all that in a couple of blocks.
The jewelry stands.The gluten-free treats at every turn (thank you!!)
The way the vendors know each other.
The regulars who are greeted by name.
The hum of music and conversation and sunshine.
I was there with a friend, wandering slowly, laughing, trying on baubles, tasting samples. A lot of samples. Just, fully in it.
And I had taken a small risk that day.
I live with chronic pain, especially in my knees and feet. I usually have a real stamina limit on walking and standing.
If I’m not in my extremely supportive sneakers (which I am definitely inconsistent about), I pay for it. That day, I wore my Birkenstocks. I chose slip-on ease and aesthetic over orthotics — fully aware of the usual tradeoff.
We were there for almost three hours. Walking. Standing. Browsing. Chatting. Laughing. EATING.
Later that day, it dawned on me and with shock realized - I didn’t once think, I need to sit down.
Now, my pain has been improving lately, so I’m not discounting that. Bodies are complex. Healing isn’t linear. There may be physiological shifts happening.
But it was also undeniably clear: Joy changed my experience of pain.
Not the ecstatic, peak-moment kind of joy.Just the steady, neutral, grounded joy of being present in something lovely. Connection. Beauty. Belonging. Sensory pleasure. Community.
I was so engaged in what was in front of me that my body did not center pain as the main event.
Holy crap, I thought - JOY IS MEDICINE.
When we are regulated, connected, curious, engaged, our nervous system shifts. Our perception shifts. Our threshold shifts. What feels intolerable on an empty, isolated day can feel workable when we are resourced.
This isn’t even that deep (as my teenagers perpetually remind me). It’s biology.
And it’s also culture. The vibe at that market mattered. The way people were greeting each other. The artistry. The local flavor. It felt like being inside a small ecosystem of mutual support. That kind of environment is not neutral to our bodies.
We underestimate how much context shapes experience.
Engagement changes sensation. Where attention goes, experience follows. When I’m hyper-focused on pain, pain expands. When I’m absorbed in beauty and connection, my body has more range.
Neutral joy counts.
It doesn’t have to be a vacation or a major life event. It can be a few hours at a market. A slow coffee. A good conversation.
Joy is a resource.
Maybe we don’t need to wait for the big moments. Maybe we practice it in ordinary, sun-lit hours in Birkenstocks, surrounded by GLUTEN FREE (ok fine, or not) bread and jewelry and neighbors and let it quietly expand what our bodies believe is possible.
