A Good Joy Ethic
The antidote to busyness
When my kids were young, one of my crusades was elementary school homework. As in, I hated it, and fundamentally disagreed with its value. I caught a lot of flak for it, mainly from parents with the perspective that homework teaches kids responsibility and gives parents an opportunity to be involved in their education. Sure, sure. I get it. But I grew up in the 80s, and aside from the occasional diorama, book report, or solar system model, I did not bring schoolwork home. In fact, I don’t recall homework until high school. And despite my free-range, play in the backyard, read Babysitters Club books, ride bikes, and “see you at dinner” upbringing, I still managed to be in the gifted and talented program, get straight A’s (except for PE, duh), graduate from college summa cum laude, and secure gainful employment in my field.
Knowing what I know now about my neurodivergent brain, I wonder if the idea of having to “manage” one more thing—my children’s daily math homework that I COULD NOT COMPREHEND despite once upon a time passing the AP Calculus test—was an ADHD thing. It was hard enough for me to work, remember to bathe my children (let’s be honest; that was not always a roaring success), keep my house remotely tidy, and stay on top of all the invisible labor. Homework was simply too much for me to handle.
But despite my own distaste for one more task to oversee as Parenting Project Manager, I truly did not appreciate the premise of giving children homework in elementary school. It caused my children unnecessary stress and fatigue after a full day of learning, and we often had after-school activities as “well-rounded” families are supposed to.
But my little secret was this: I thought homework at that age was stupid, and I railed against the culture of “busyness” that so many others seemed to relish, celebrate, or at the very least, tolerate. I knew my daughters were sensitive like I am, and I could see the impact of overloading them with activities, assignments, and pressure. Since then, I have seen what happens when intelligent, high-achieving students attempt to carry an unrealistic academic load and/or overly rigorous activity schedule. It’s a recipe for burnout. And as was my rallying cry during my anti-homework crusading years, I continue to stick to my mantra: “I am not trying to raise little workaholics.”
Many parents say that all they want is for their children to be happy. Most of them mean it. And of course most of us also want our kids to be financially secure, competent, have a purpose in life, etc. But many other parents truly do insist their children be top of their class, star athletes, first chair musicians, attend an Ivy League school, become doctors or attorneys, the list goes on. I’m not patting myself on the back when I say that I honestly mean it when I say that all I want is for my children to be happy: to find work that is meaningful, to be connected, to have loving relationships, to have purpose, and yes, to support themselves and manage their lives competently. And that takes work. But work is not everything.
Since my divorce, I have had a difficult time relaxing and having “pointless” fun. I don’t read novels the way I used to. I rarely watch TV. When I have “down time,” I find myself working in some way or another. Now, I happen to love my work, so for me, writing or editing a podcast episode or creating a newsletter is enjoyable and fulfilling. But it’s still “work.”
And I’ve realized that it takes so much time and effort to maintain my home, raise my kids, and juggle my disparate work tasks—from teaching voice lessons to facilitating writing workshops to producing shows—that I frequently forget to just unwind and enjoy that unstructured time my children always craved. It’s that force that compelled me to create “1980s summers” in lieu of heavily scheduled days of camp and lessons. (I know this is a privilege—I generally worked part-time in the summer and could bring my kids with me.)
But this weekend, I did it: I had fun. I did not tackle my work to-do list. I did yard work, though, and ran errands, and had a full social schedule. And I deliberately—though guiltily and hesitantly—opted out of “work” tasks in favor of summer fun. I went to a musical, attended a stand-up comedy special, floated in the pool (twice!), saw more of my best friends in one weekend than I usually do in a month (like, 5 of them!!), hung out with my daughters, and had an impromptu neighborhood happy hour. It was a packed weekend, but my heart felt full. I felt calm and content.
At the end of Sunday, my to-do list is approximately as long as it was Friday. And I felt bad about that—and overwhelmed by it—but I made peace with it. Because weekends are not supposed to be an extension of the work week; we were designed to enjoy our lives, to savor human connection and down time. We need to remember why we work to begin with—because our lives were intended to be full of joy and love.
I was talking to my dear friend about our teenagers, academics, and summer jobs. She said something so profound it stopped me in my tracks. She said, “Of course I want him to have a good work ethic, but I also want him to have a good joy ethic.” Take that in: a good joy ethic.
When she said those words to me, it illuminated one of my core values: joy. I have always considered myself a deeply joyful person, and it’s what I want most for my daughters, too. Yes, I want them to be successful and responsible and confident. But I desperately want them to experience joy. And maybe joy needs to be taught. I’d like to think that during those years when I clenched my jaw while doing third grade math and deliberately under-scheduled our days, that’s exactly what I was doing: teaching them how to have a joy ethic.
XOXO,
Steph