Beethoven's immortal "Choral"—his Ninth Symphony, completed 201 years ago—provides some necessary cheer on difficult mornings. When it's not even 9 AM and, from two doors up the walk, someone's thumping Master P on their boombox for the whole wing to "appreciate," I need all the help I can get. Closing my door muffles the thumping, and Ludwig Van obscures it the rest of the way.
The recording I have is of a performance by the North German Symphony Orchestra. It's not a jaw-dropper, but it's more than good enough for another year-end in prison. Even after years of practice, thinking of reasons to be cheerful in this place sometimes takes the help of Beethoven's Ninth.
Other mood boosters: instant Folgers, steaming in a plastic mug; new socks bought from the canteen; powdered milk and bran flakes; those rare days when a headcount clears on schedule; feedback from a viewer who watched one of my Real Talk episodes; post-workout shakiness; saying goodbye to someone I helped in the Reentry Center, the day before they go home; winning a root beer on game night; predawn silence, predawn darkness; noticing thoughts and feelings pass while I count breaths in corpse pose.... I could go on.
The other day I read, If you don't feel gratitude, you're taking it for granted. I used to think of "cultivate gratitude" as another of those schmaltzy, faux-philosophical slogans you see on embroidery and kitchen plaques—right next to the one that reads "live, laugh, love." But mindfully working to develop gratitude offers genuine rewards. It delivers palpable, sometimes life-changing results—that is to say, an ability to feel joy.
As with four-leaf clovers and Waldo, the more you look for joy, the easier it gets to find. I started simply, years ago, by looking to scrape even a scintilla of pleasure from a day in prison. What I learned is that, unlike in a scavenger hunt, joy offers durable value in the form of heightened resilience.
The Ninth is a delightful work you probably know, even if you're not a fan of classical music. Pieces of it feature in the soundtrack to Stanley Kubrick's adaptation of A Clockwork Orange. The film's delinquent protagonist, Alex, is subjected to a torturous aversion therapy meant to burn away his criminal inclinations. In a scene now cinematically infamous, Alex is forced to watch hours of horrendous, violent film clips, scored with the music of his cherished musical hero, Ludwig van Beethoven, including the symphony's fourth movement, the instantly recognizable (in this case ironic) "Ode to Joy." The effect is that Alex can no longer hear Beethoven without becoming extremely nauseated, and we viewers can't unsee the terror he endured while being reprogrammed.
Alex and I both changed dramatically during our time in prison. He was locked up a criminal; I was locked up despite not being one. His change was forced; mine was organic and gradual. He came to loathe Beethoven; I came to love all of Beethoven's symphonies and listen to them often. I haven't watched or read A Clockwork Orange in decades. I wonder what other antitheses I'd spot.
These days, I find joy whenever I step outside and smell fresh air. Turning on a faucet, I experience joy at having access to clean, running water. When my eyes refocus after meditation, I often take a deep, relaxed breath and smile. I look for opportunities everywhere. There are hard days, as well as challenging weeks, but it's amazing how often I find those moments of joy.
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Byron does not have Internet access. Pariahblog.com posts are sent from his cell by way of a secure service especially for prisoners' use. We do read him your comments, however, and he enjoys hearing your thoughts very much.