In Hard Times, Joy Isn’t Frivolous — It’s Fuel for Change

Enjoying ourselves doesn't ignore hardship; it sustains us through it. Joel Pennington reflects on finding meaning, even in the midst of crisis, and how it can be a catalyst for change.

Dancing to Puuluup, an Estonian folk duo, at Summerfolk 2024. Photo credit: Miranda Miller

COMMUNITY CONTRIBUTION

In a town as small as Owen Sound, you’re rarely more than two degrees of separation from anyone. Which means we’re aware of the challenges we each face as individuals, institutions, and as a whole community. As a result, it can feel almost disrespectful to talk about joy when there’s so much suffering and strain.

But maybe joy isn’t frivolous. Maybe it’s fuel.

I lived on the Greek island of Lesvos for 12 months in 2018 as tens of thousands of refugees from all over the Middle East, Asia, and Africa were fleeing war and poverty. Greece was considered the safest, fastest, and cheapest route into the EU, and the islands were overwhelmed with desperate folks hoping to find safety and prosperity for themselves and their families in places like Germany, France, and the UK.

The camp on the island was horrendous. Over 20,000 people crammed into a crumbling former military barracks, which was designed for only 2,000. Open sewage flowed in the street. Food and water were scarce. The threat of sectarian violence was omnipresent. The tension and suffering were palpable. It was a miserable place to be stuck in the endless bureaucracy of seeking asylum.

But there we all were — refugees, NGO workers, volunteers, local Greeks serving domestic and international tourists — on this sunny island in the crystal clear waters of the Mediterranean. It was on those beaches that we all found moments of joy in the extreme suffering.

Afghan women in their burkinis giggling in the waves. Volunteers giving swimming lessons to tentative Iraqis who had never been in the sea. Then, watching them bliss out as they learned to float.

Inevitably, a soccer ball would be produced and laughter-riddled games would unfold. It was globally unanimous - the beach was a place for fun regardless of where you were from or what you were going through.

I believe it was those joyous moments that made life bearable for everyone on that island. I believe it’s those moments that can bring our lives meaning. Because ultimately, without joy, what are we doing here?

Now, summer has arrived in Owen Sound - my favourite time of year. Growing up in Australia, where summer lasts nine months, I used to take it for granted. But since moving here, I’ve developed a deep love for these few precious months, and I’m committed to soaking up as much joy from them as I can.

The summer sun stretches across our town and shines on everything - the good, the hard, and the heartbreaking. It’s impossible not to see the growing number of people experiencing homelessness, or the impact of addiction in our shared spaces.

And in Owen Sound, where the problems feel personal because the people are familiar, joy can also be a kind of protest. It says: we are still here. We still believe in each other. We still care.

There is a difference between joy and escapism. Escapism says: Ignore what’s wrong. Joy says: Stay grounded in what’s good, even as you continue to strive for improvement.

So maybe this summer, we give ourselves permission to be joyful and engaged. Because joy doesn’t erase struggle, but it can create space for empathy, connection, and change.

Let's laugh and bond on our beautiful beaches. Let’s dance and sing at Harbour Nights and at Mid Week Music. Let’s play games and giggle at Harrison Park. Let’s allow unbridled joy to flourish and see where that takes us.

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