Tips To Finding Queer Joy Everyday

Tonight, I stood in a queer bar on leather dyke night and watched as strangers flirted, laughed, and kissed. 

“I just can’t lie to myself anymore,” I overheard one person confess earnestly. As terrifying as the world is right now, it helped her realize that she needed to live all aspects of her life out and proud. Of course, we all need to make our own choices about safety, but a lot of us are not the kind of queers who could pass as anything but—even if we wanted to. Besides, being visible helps us all stay safer, and being in community is a source of queer joy we all need right now. 

Silence has never and will never protect us, and as scary as these days are they are also filled with queer hope and resistance. No question, this is a hard time to be queer, but there is also life-sustaining queer joy everywhere around us. If you’ve spent the last few weeks feeling like the world is ending, you aren’t alone. 

When I wake up each day despite the fresh horror that inevitably greets me in the news alerts on my phone, I try to set the intention of approaching the day as though it was a treasure hunt or an “eye spy” game. The prize is to find as many small moments of happiness as I can. I’m not talking about big things like a winning lotto ticket or the solution to our nation’s slip ‘n slide into fascism, but the small things that remind us we aren’t alone and there is sweetness everywhere.

 Recently at the top of the list, there has been Chappell Roan’s pink pony club Grammy performance, gummy bears on ice cream, surprise packages from long-distance queer friends I’ve known since we were itty bitty punk kids, the fact that dogs exist, fairy gardens and often quite queer sidewalk galleries  (which my home of Portland, Oregon is especially good at), stickers, and of course we can’t forget rainbows. 

Tracking Glimmers

Most people with any history of trauma (and a lot of us have that) are familiar with the reality of triggers. These are situations or stimuli that instantly bring back memories of a past traumatic experience. The opposite of a trigger is something that I have started seeing online referred to as a “glimmer.”  Not only is that an adorable phrase, but a glimmer refers to a stimulus that instead of triggering trauma, sparks immense joy. 

Each day, but especially when times are tough, I try to lean into my glimmers. For me, this includes bright colors, collectible trinkets from quarter machines, happy dogs, zines and messy art, and queer friendships. I also try to find ways to track those glimmers to remember the little sparks of joy, regardless of what else is happening that day. In March 2020 as the world began locking down for the pandemic, I found a new hobby. I took an empty composition notebook purchased for just a dollar or two and started to cut/paste/collage moments from my day. I would cut out part of the cereal box after using the last of it to make breakfast, write a funny comment a friend texted me, add in a photo of my dog, or a little simple drawing of somewhere I went. I decided I would make a page a day, and have each day since.  

When the world feels big and scary, it’s those small moments like beautiful graffiti out a bus window, the rainbow of an oil-slicked puddle, or the spark of joy when you kiss a friend that reminds me life is worth not just living, but recording and remembering. If life feels stuck in a (understandable) cycle of doom scrolling I recommend hitting pause to try and track the joy. Even if you don’t have any interest in creating an ongoing daily log or creative journal the way that I do, consider making a list of the small glimmer moments in your day—there might be more than you think! 

Tricks For Finding Joy 

Being joyful in hard times doesn’t mean that you are naive or in denial about hard things happening. I have survived brutally hard things in my life, from an abusive childhood in a house that would later be categorized as an extreme hoard to becoming homeless as a teenager. It has always been finding joy and magic that has enabled me to get through difficult experiences. I believe that finding magic is core to queerness, and what queer culture has always done. We fight hard, we protest, and we love even harder. Most of us have fought hard to build our queer lives, and I believe centering queer joy is one way to honor that struggle. 

 As our community is under attack it’s more important than ever to listen to queer music and read queer books. I try to make sure that for every bit of anti-queer news I consume, I match that with media that centers queer joy. Each of us will find that joy in different ways. For me, joy and specifically queer joy most often comes from embracing the sense of magic and wonder. Like looking for shapes in clouds, recreating scenes from my queer books with small toys, or finding unexpected street art to photograph and text to friends. Some other ways I try to find daily joy include: 

• Making art in and out of my journal—you don’t have to be a “good” artist to create things 

• Writing smutty queer/trans stories
• Playing with my dogs and teaching them silly tricks sometimes with queer themes
• Spending time with queers I adore, in person or long distance (thanks technology) 
• Surrounding myself with queer art 

What about you? What are the moments that spark joy and connection in your life? 

Searching for and amplifying queer joy is the best way I know how to honor the families we build, the friendships we forge, the lives we make, and the bodies we construct. For me, queerness is intrinsically tied to maintaining a childlike wonder, with a strong gritty edge. I search for (queer) joy everywhere not because I don’t know how hard the world can be, but because hope for a brighter tomorrow has always been what gets me through the hardest times. I intimately know that there are no guarantees in life; bad things have and will continue to happen, but we just have this one beautiful queer life to cherish. The other day, Trump signed one of his anti-transgender executive orders—the onslaught has been so overwhelming that I can’t even remember which one at this point—but as I was walking my dogs in the frosty twilight I saw the first circus of the season pushing up through the frozen ground. Those flowers felt like a small lavender promise, the reminder I needed that we too can remain soft and bright as we do hard things.