“Joy”
“What’s that?” Joy Matthews looked up from her desk at her office mate, Connie Clements.
“Very funny.”
Joy knew that Connie didn’t actually think she was funny. She was the most unfunny person she knew – bordering on morose – and her name was some cosmic joke, poking endless fun at the discrepancy.
Her parents must have been trying to cheer themselves up when they named her. Let’s face it. She came by her gloomy look-on-life honestly. Fred and Mabel weren’t exactly laugh-a-minute. Joy remembered a picnic when she was small where both of her parents sat with glum looks on their faces and recounted every incident that week that had made their lives miserable. “My boss didn’t even smile at me yesterday. Not once,” said her mother. “You think that’s bad,” said her father, “the parking attendant actually shot me the finger when I was getting in my car this morning. Like I was some ogre or something.” Joy had been hoping for maybe a little bit of fun on that picnic. She could remember thinking that these 27 years later, but no, the sun was too warm, the ants had the nerve to crawl on their blanket and there was even bird poop on the picnic table. Her parents had a knack for looking for the negative in everything and, unfortunately, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to keep from doing the same.
“Joy?” Connie said again, this time with a look of annoyance on her face.
“What?”
“You have to get yourself together. Brad’s coming in tomorrow, remember? He said he needs to see a better attitude from you.”
“Or what?” Joy said. Connie didn’t have any boundaries. She was always nosing into her business.
“Or else he’s going to do what he’s threatened to do since you were hired – fire you.”
“I do a good job. He can’t fire me because I’m not happy Hannah running around here with some idiotic smile glued on my face.”
“Yes, he can. This company has an At will employment policy and he can fire you for whatever he likes. Don’t you know that?”
Joy slumped down in her chair. “Brad is an ass. He probably will fire me, if not tomorrow, then soon. What else is new?”
Connie tossed a book onto Joy’s desk. Change Your Brain, Change Your Life. Read this. I picked it up a few days ago and it’s really good.”
“Why would you buy this book? You don’t have an attitude problem.”
Connie looked sheepish. “I do have to share an office with you everyday.”
“Ouch. Am I that bad?”
Connie smiled. “Read the damn book.”
That night after dinner, Joy settled down on her couch. “Naive little Connie,” she muttered, “like some stupid book can undo my genetic predisposition.” She flipped through the pages filled with what liked like feel-good stories of how Dr. Daniel Amen’s method had helped so many people with all sorts of ailments. “Right. Who does he think he’s fooling?”
Then she ran across something that reminded her of that delightful picnic so many years ago: ANTs. These were not the ones that had brought such vexation to her parents, however. This was an acronym for Automatic Negatives Thoughts. These were the little buggers that invaded your brain, swarming like their insect counterparts, and munched away at self-esteem and positive feelings.
“Huh?” Joy muttered. Life was what it was and so were thoughts. You couldn’t help thinking those thoughts, after all. They came with the ole gene pool, right?
Apparently not. She read how you could, in effect, stand up to the negative thoughts. She visualized a gigantic ant sitting in an armchair while she stood, hands on hips, giving it what-for.
“Is your thought 100% true?” she read.
Well, yes, her thoughts about how life generally sucked were true.
“Was there anything positive about negative situations?”
Well, no. That’s what made them negative, stupid.
“Think Pollyanna.”
Yuck. I hate that blonde-haired ninny.
“Never mind. You’re hopeless. Close this book and move on with your miserable life.”
She blinked. Had she actually read that? She looked back on the page and the gigantic ant she’d imagined earlier grinned at her. “Close the book, dummy. Why even try to fight with my lovely pronouncements? I know best.” The ant gave her a devilish wink.
“You are not real!” Joy shouted. “Get out of my mind, you gruesome insect.” She slammed the book shut and headed out the door to the dumpster.
She stopped short just as she was about to toss the book. So, fighting with these negative thoughts – or in her case this creepy imaginary friend – was good?
“Yeah, you loser.”
“I am not a loser!” Joy shouted, startling her elderly neighbor, Edith, who was walking by with her dog.
“Of course you’re not, dear,” said Edith, smiling.
Joy, clutching the book, headed back into her apartment.
“Feeling bad? Eat something tasty,” the ant’s voice said. “You’re fat anyway.”
“I am not! Only slightly chubby.” She opened the fridge door and saw the chocolate cake she’d brought home from the office party.
“Go ahead. You’ll never be any thinner.”
“I could be,” she said, then reached for the bag of carrots. “I’ll show you.”
She sat down at the table and laughed for the first time in a very long time. She loved a good fight even if it was with an imaginary insect.
If this was all it took to be happy, then she was well on her way.
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