Joy is arguably the most powerful force on the planet.
Prologue: The Time Joy Ambushed Me in a Grocery Store
Let me set the scene: I’m in Costco, a place where dreams go to die (or at least get bulk-bought and then forgotten in the back of a pantry). I’m pushing a cart the size of a small car, wearing sweatpants with so many holes I’m basically half-naked, and I’m in the middle of a spiritual crisis. Not the big kind—just the quiet, gnawing “Am I doing this right?” kind that plagues peaceful moments.
Then, out of nowhere, a song comes on over the store speakers. It’s that song—the one I’ve loved since I was sixteen, the one that’s followed me through magnificent men, career pivots, and at least three questionable haircuts. And suddenly, I’m not in Costco anymore. I’m sixteen again, in my bedroom, singing into a hairbrush like it’s a microphone and I’m the love child of Janis Joplin and a slightly off-key angel.
And then—oh no—I start crying. Not elegant, single-tear crying. Full-on, snot-bubbling, “please God, let no one I know see me right now” crying. Because the song is beautiful, yes, but also because life is ridiculous and I’m exploding with joy. Here I am, a grown-ass woman, having a mystical experience between the paper towels and the 20-pound bags of quinoa. And the absurdity of it? The absurdity is part of the joy.
That’s when I knew: joy isn’t just sacred. It’s sneaky. It doesn’t always announce itself with a choir of angels. Sometimes it hits you in the cereal aisle, disguised as a pop song from 1987.
Joy as Divine Currency (Or, Why God Has the Best Sense of Humor)
The Spiritual Economics of Joy
Let’s talk about God for a second. I’ve always imagined the divine as less of a stern judge and more of a delighted parent—you know, the kind who watches their kid try to ride a bike for the first time and is this close to bursting into laughter and applause. Because let’s be real: if God is love, and love is patient and kind, then love is also hilarious. Have you met humans? We’re a mess. We’re glorious, but we’re messy. And if the divine isn’t laughing with us, then I don’t want any part of it.
Joy, then, isn’t just a spiritual reward although it may be a blow job and a Slingerland drumset. It’s evidence we’re alive. It’s the universe’s way of saying, “Yes, I see you. And yes, I think you’re hilarious. Now here’s a sunset and a sudden urge to call your best friend and tell them you love them.”
And here’s the thing: joy isn’t just out there. It’s in here, too. It’s in the way your nervous system pings when you see a dog wearing a tiny hat. It’s in the way your body relaxes into a laugh so deep it feels like your soul is doing yoga. Neuroscience calls this “vagal tone.” I call it God’s inside joke.
Joy as Spiritual Warfare (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Ridiculous)
I’ve had my fair share of dark nights of the soul. I’ve stared down possession, wrestled with demons (metaphorical and, let’s be honest, probably a few literal ones), and come out the other side with my faith intact—but my sense of humor sharpened.
Because here’s the truth: demons hate joy. They can’t stand it. It’s like garlic to vampires, or a surprise party to an introvert. Joy is light, and light exposes all the shadows. So when I’m feeling spiritually attacked, I don’t just pray. I laugh. I put on a song that makes me want to dance like no one’s watching (but let’s me honest, they should be because I dance better than most strippers). I text a friend a meme so stupid it’s transcendent. And suddenly, the darkness doesn’t seem so dark anymore.
This is joy as intercession. Not the solemn, incense-filled kind (though I love that too), but the kind that involves snort-laughing in the middle of a prayer. Because if God is infinite, then God’s sense of humor must be, too.
The Psychology of Sacred Joy (Or, Why Your Nervous System Needs a Good Laugh)
Joy as Nervous System Alchemy
As a therapist, I’ve seen what happens when people forget how to feel joy. Their nervous systems get stuck in survival mode, like a car with the emergency brake on. They’re always scanning for threats, always bracing for impact. And I get it. Life is hard. But here’s the thing: joy is the WD-40 for your soul. It loosens up all the rusty, stuck parts and reminds your body that it’s safe to relax.
Polyvagal theory tells us that our nervous systems have three settings: safe and social, fight or flight, and shutdown. Joy lives in that first one—the safe and social zone. It’s where we connect, create, and receive. And the more we practice joy, the easier it is for our bodies to find their way back there.
But here’s the catch: joy isn’t just about feeling good. It’s about doing good—for your nervous system, for your soul, for the world. It’s about rewiring your brain to expect goodness, not just disaster. And let’s be real: if your brain is a computer, joy is the update that fixes all the glitches.
Joy and the Shadow (Or, Why You Should Let Yourself Be a Little Ridiculous)
Carl Jung said we have to integrate our shadows to become whole. But what if part of your shadow is the fact that you refuse to let yourself be silly? What if your shadow is the voice that says, “Stop laughing so loud!” or “You’re too old for this!” or “What will people think?”
Newsflash: joy doesn’t care what people think. Joy is the part of you that wants to dance in the kitchen, even if you look like a newborn giraffe. Joy is the part of you that wants to sing in the car, even if you’re off-key. Joy is the part of you that wants to live, even when it’s messy.
I’ve had clients—brilliant, accomplished, serious people—who were terrified of joy. They associated it with frivolity, with selfishness, with not being productive enough. But joy isn’t the enemy of productivity. It’s the fuel. You ever try to write a report or solve a problem when you’re in a foul mood? It’s like trying to run a marathon in flip-flops. Joy is the wind at your back. It’s the thing that makes the hard stuff easier.
Eros and the Sacredness of Joy (Or, Why Flirting with Life Is a Spiritual Practice)
Joy as the Language of Love
Eros isn’t just about sex. It’s about desire—the kind that makes you lean into life instead of away from it. And joy? Joy is eros in its most playful form. It’s the spark that leaps between two people when they recognize each other. It’s the electricity of a first kiss, the warmth of a long embrace, the quiet contentment of lying next to someone you love, no words needed.
I wrote Magnificent Men because I believe men are undervalued in our culture, and that worshipping them—not in a way that diminishes us, but in a way that honors their magnitude—can bring us the hot and holy love we desire. But here’s the secret: that kind of love isn’t possible without joy. Joy is what makes love fun. It’s the difference between a relationship that’s a chore and one that’s a celebration.
I fantasize about my future husband often. I imagine the way he’ll laugh, the way he’ll hold me, the way we’ll challenge each other to grow. But more than anything, I imagine the joy we’ll share. The inside jokes, the spontaneous adventures, the quiet moments of gratitude. Because joy isn’t just the icing on the cake of love. It’s the flour in the batter. Without it, the whole thing falls apart.
Joy as Embodied Prayer (Or, Why Your Body Knows How to Party)
In Taoist tradition, there’s a concept called wu wei—effortless action. It’s the idea that when you’re aligned with the natural flow of life, you don’t have to force things. You can just be, and the right actions arise spontaneously.
Joy is the emotional equivalent of wu wei. It’s the state of being where you’re not striving, not performing, not proving. You’re simply receiving. And let’s be real: your body loves this. Your body doesn’t want to live in a state of constant stress. It wants to move. It wants to laugh. It wants to feel alive.
I’ve spent years studying fasting, both as a spiritual practice and a physiological reset. But joy? Joy is its own kind of fast. When we allow ourselves to feel joy, we’re fasting from fear, from scarcity, from the lie that we’re not enough. And in that space of abundance, we remember who we truly are: delicious, ridiculous, divine creatures who are here to enjoy the ride.
Joy as an Act of Reverence (Or, How to Worship with Your Whole Self)
The Sacred in the Ordinary
Reverence isn’t just for cathedrals and rituals. It’s for the way the light slants through the trees in the late afternoon. It’s for the first sip of coffee in the morning, the way a child’s laughter can stop you in your tracks. Joy is the practice of reverence in everyday life.
But reverence isn’t passive. It’s an active choice. It’s the decision to slow down, to pay attention, to let yourself be moved. In a world that moves at a breakneck pace, joy is the radical act of saying, “This moment matters. This feeling matters. I matter.”
And sometimes, that looks like laughing so hard you snort. Sometimes, it looks like dancing terribly in the kitchen. Sometimes, it looks like texting someone a stupid meme because it delighted you. Because joy isn’t just serious reverence. It’s playful reverence. It’s the kind of reverence that involves a lot of laughing and maybe a little bit of crying, because life is that beautiful and that absurd.
Joy and the Art of Receiving (Or, Why You Deserve Good Things)
One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn is how to receive joy. As a therapist, as a writer, as a woman, I’ve spent so much of my life giving. And giving is beautiful. But if we only give and never receive, we burn out. We become reservoirs with no inflow, and eventually, we run dry.
Joy is the art of receiving. It’s allowing yourself to be filled—by a sunset, by a song, by a lover’s touch. It’s the understanding that you are worthy of goodness, not because of what you do, but because of who you are: a beloved child of the universe.
This is why I believe joy is so closely tied to nervous system healing. When we’re in a state of chronic stress, our bodies are in a state of defense. We’re bracing for the next blow, the next demand, the next crisis. But joy requires openness. It requires us to soften, to surrender, to trust that we can handle whatever comes.
And let’s be real: sometimes, the thing we need to surrender to is the fact that life is hilarious. That we’re all just walking around, trying our best, and occasionally tripping over our own feet. And that’s okay. That’s more than okay. That’s sacred.
Joy as Emotional Awakening (Or, Why Crying in Public Is a Spiritual Practice)
The Full Spectrum of Aliveness
Emotional awakening isn’t just about feeling the “positive” emotions. It’s about feeling everything—the grief, the rage, the fear, the longing—and still choosing to stay open to joy. It’s the understanding that joy isn’t the absence of pain, but the courage to feel both at the same time.
I’ve had moments in my life where the joy and the sorrow were so intertwined that I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. The birth of a friend’s child after years of infertility. The death of a mentor who had changed my life. In those moments, joy wasn’t a denial of the pain. It was the context for it. It was the reminder that even in the darkest times, there is still light.
And sometimes, that light looks like laughing through tears. Sometimes, it looks like crying during a song in Costco for absolutely no defensible reason. Because joy isn’t just happiness. It’s aliveness. And aliveness is messy.
Joy as a Spiritual Practice (Or, Why Your Hobbies Are Holy)
If joy is sacred, then the pursuit of joy is a spiritual practice. It’s not about chasing fleeting pleasures or avoiding discomfort. It’s about cultivating a relationship with joy—the way you might cultivate a relationship with God, or with a beloved.
This means making space for joy in your daily life. It means prioritizing the things that bring you alive—whether that’s music, or dance, or time in nature, or deep conversation. It means saying no to the things that drain you, even if they seem “important.” It means trusting that joy isn’t a distraction from your path, but the path itself.
For me, that looks like drumming (badly, but with enthusiasm). It looks like writing articles that make me laugh out loud. It looks like sending my friends ridiculous texts at 2 a.m. because I know they’ll appreciate the absurdity. Because joy isn’t just serious business. It’s sacred business. And sacred business can be fun.
The Joy of Sex
In 1972 there was a popular book called “The Joy of Sex” by Alex Comfort. At the time it was a revolutionary and bestselling illustrated guide to lovemaking known for its candid, playful, and comprehensive approach to human sexuality, emphasizing mutual pleasure, respect, and intimacy. Well, buttercup, the times they are a changing. If you haven’t noticed there’s been several sexual revolutions since then.
Everyone has there own view on sex. If you’ve read my writing you know I have a unique perspective on sex. I believe there should be lots of it and it should be as full of joy, laughter, worship, and devotion as humanly possible. If both people don’t end up screaming and laughing, well, you haven’t done it right. Do it again. And when you do end up screaming and laughing? Do it again. And again. And again.
Joy as a Revolutionary Act (Or, Why the World Needs More People Who Laugh Too Loudly)
The Politics of Joy
In a world that profits from our disconnection—from ourselves, from each other, from the divine—joy is a revolutionary act. It’s a refusal to buy into the story that we’re not enough, that we don’t deserve goodness, that life is a struggle to be endured rather than a gift to be celebrated.
Capitalism thrives on our exhaustion. Patriarchy thrives on our self-doubt. White supremacy thrives on our division. But joy? Joy is the great disruptor. It’s the force that reminds us that we are alive, that we are connected, that we are free.
This is why I believe joy is so closely tied to social justice. When we reclaim joy as sacred, we’re not just healing ourselves. We’re creating a world where everyone has access to joy. Where no one is told that their suffering is their only worth. Where no one is denied the right to feel alive.
And let’s be real: the world could use a lot more aliveness right now.
Joy and the Collective Field (Or, Why Your Joy Is Contagious)
We’re not just individuals. We’re part of a collective field, a web of consciousness that connects us all. And every time one of us chooses joy, we’re not just affecting ourselves. We’re affecting the whole.
This is the power of joy as a spiritual practice. It’s not just about personal healing. It’s about collective liberation. When we allow ourselves to feel joy, we’re contributing to a field of possibility where others can do the same. We’re creating a ripple effect that can change the world.
I’ve seen this in my own work. When I write about love, about sex, about communication, I’m not just sharing information. I’m inviting people into a feeling. The feeling of being seen. The feeling of being enough. The feeling of joy.
And joy, my friends, is contagious. It’s the laugh that spreads through a crowd. It’s the smile that makes a stranger’s day. It’s the stupid meme that makes your friend snort-laugh in the middle of a meeting. So let’s spread it. Let’s be carriers of joy. Let’s be the people who laugh too loudly, who dance too terribly, who love too fiercely.
Because the world doesn’t just need more joy. It needs more people who are brave enough to feel it.
Epilogue: The Joy That Won’t Be Ignored
I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if my husband is out there, or if my book will find its audience, or if the world will ever truly embrace the sacredness of joy. But I do know this: joy has saved me, again and again. It’s been the light in the darkness, the hand in the storm, the voice that whispers, “Keep going. And for the love of God, lighten up.”
And so I will. Not because I’m guaranteed a happy ending, but because joy isn’t just the destination. It’s the way. It’s the dance. It’s the laugh. It’s the sacred ridiculousness of being alive.
So let us treat joy as sacred. Let us pursue it with the same fervor we pursue truth, or justice, or love. Let us allow it to break us open, to rewire our nervous systems, to remind us of who we truly are. And let us never, ever apologize for feeling alive.
Because joy isn’t just an emotion. It’s a revelation. And the world is waiting for us to receive it—with open arms, open hearts, and, if we’re lucky, a few snort-laughs along the way.
Randi Fredricks, Ph.D.
In the world of me and you,
All is forgotten when we’re inside.
And the words that pass us by,
I am not listening to all of its lies.
And it’s up to you,
Why won’t you say?
Make our lives turn out this way.
If they knew, that we have got nothing to lose,
No reason to hide from what’s true.
Then we have got nothing to lose.
— It’s Up to You, The Moody Blues 1970
This article is an excerpt from Randi Fredricks, Ph.D.’s forthcoming book exploring the sacred and sensual dimensions of intimacy, devotion, and hot and holy love.
Author Bio
Randi Fredricks, Ph.D. is a best-selling author and leading expert in counseling, psychotherapy, communication, and human connection. Her first published study, released in 1993, explored the impact of family dysfunction on intimacy and communication in adult relationships. For more than three decades, she has developed innovative therapeutic models to help individuals and couples create deeper connection, emotional resilience, and high-caliber relationships.
