Solving the puzzle of how to be okay when everything seems not okay.

I’ve always wanted to be a Private Investigator.
But not the hungover PI who sleeps on his office couch and brushes his teeth with whiskey in the morning.

I wanted to be a smart, cunning, lock picking, leather wearing, motorcycle riding, wise cracking (well, one part of this came true), mystery solving savant. 
I owe this desire to some early childhood influences.
My mom used to read me Nancy Drew Mystery books during summer breaks. I could have read the books myself, but it was our time together, when we would share the love of a mystery.
They were books she read as a teen and instilled a love of reading and mysteries in her. 
For me, these books, where Nancy and her friends George and Bess, and her devastatingly handsome boyfriend Ned would stalk through the night solving mysteries, were so exciting and so far removed from the life I lived.
My mom (Mother Trucker, if you will) was also great at pointing out where these 1950s books for young women were 100% full of shit, and making sure I didn’t compare my life to the over the top perfect life of Nancy Drew.
Thanks Mom!
Every Sunday night, our family would gather around the TV and watch “Murder She Wrote” as if it were our church service. 
I can still hear the intro music to that show.

I also grew up on a steady diet of Archie Comic books. So while I wanted to be out in the night solving mysteries, picking locks and escaping from locked rooms, I also believed I should own a hundred different styles of bathing suits (thank you Veronica Lodge), and spend my days lazing between the malt shop and the beach - no matter that I lived in Montana and there were no hot sandy beaches, or malt shops.

I am now friends with a real life Private Investigator and, shockingly, it’s not as glamorous as the Dick Tracy, Nancy Drew, Stephanie Plum characters make it out to be.
My friend spends a lot of time in his car and even more time knocking on stranger’s doors and interviewing witnesses, and doing paperwork. BLAH!

The thing I like about mystery books, detective shows, and the idealized version of the PI profession is the puzzle.
Trying to find the clues the author doles out into the Tetris of who done it is fun. It’s a game for my brain.
I’m obviously not alone. Mystery and intrigue is a well-established genre of books, tv shows, podcasts, and movies.
The human brain loves a good puzzle.  

Painting and making art is also a type of mystery/puzzle - fitting the right composition, perspective, light and dark values with a complimentary color palette - tying all those pieces together to make a successful finished painting is delightfully maddening.
And when one element is not working - solving the mystery of which element is off - more brain tickling madness. 

Being able to call a friend, a fresh set of eyes, a detective from a different precinct if you will - to say what’s wrong?
Why isn’t it working?
Why does it suck?
While creating art is generally a solo experience, solving the mystery of running an art business or a painting that isn’t quite right takes a dedicated team of artsy friends.
It takes George, Bess, and Ned.
Or my version: Alita, Colleen, Katy, Khara, Jenny, JenLo, Christina, Emy, and Jacob -also devastatingly handsome.

HOLD ON - WE ARE ABOUT TO TAKE A HARD LEFT

So, how do we solve the mystery of what to do when the world feels broken? 

When the rain is incessant and won’t stop even for one fucking minute.
When the price of groceries and the monthly internet bill keeps going up.
When more than half our country is 100% a-o-fucking-kay taking away the rights of women, trans and LGBTQ+ people, and treating immigrants as less than human.
How do we get out of bed?
How do we find joy when the dildo of life arrives sans lube?
How do we carry on in the face of helplessness, sadness, and isolation? 

I obviously can’t and won’t speak for everyone, but for myself, my stubborn-double-Taurus-bull-headedness has been and will continue to employ The Glimmer & Hope Detective Agency.
Every rainbow, every saturated leaf in a sunbeam, every wave, every sweet moment of a Roxy wagging her tail in her sleep, every snack, every phone call with a friend, every shared meme, every brush stroke, and every giggle.
I will notice them, and I will milk them for every single ounce of joy.

I am committed to recognizing them, and to spreading each glimmer far and wide.
I am committed to taking part in and creating delight and hope at every opportunity.
I am committed to doing so even when the situation doesn’t call for it, in fact, especially when the situation doesn’t call for it. 

I am the PI of uncovering and discovering joy.

If you watch the news cycles, we are supposed to be angry and afraid, and I am absolutely those things, but I’m also determined to be irrationally wildly hopeful and joyful. 

I am dedicated to finding the smallest glimmers of delight.
My joy is non-negotiable. 
JOYFULNESS in the face of opposition is freedom.

What will your joyful protest be?