Choosing Joy: A Weekend Away, a Soul Returned

by Melanie Gruenwald

This past weekend, I stepped away with my husband — not far geographically, but far enough to remember myself. We went to southwest Colorado- we enjoyed staying in a yurt, near hot springs with a view of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and the Great Sand Dunes. There was no agenda, no productivity plan, just some good yoga, good rest, good food, and a peaceful escape.

In the quiet, something softened.

 

Joy in the Simple

We stood in a field and observed birds we couldn’t name. We watched light and storms roll across the desert. We chased the moon rise. We drank coffee while it was still hot.

And we laughed — not because something was hilarious, but because joy had space to surface.

Joy, in the Kabbalistic tradition, is not an accident. It’s not a reward for checking everything off your list. It’s a quality of the soul — a resonance of Tiferet, the balance point between giving and receiving, between effort and surrender. When I’m rushing, I can’t access it. But when I slow down, joy reminds me: I’m already whole.

 

Creativity, Nature, and the Divine Flow

Nature is the original teacher of Sefirot — of divine pattern and flow.

I felt Netzach (endurance) in the ancient dunes, and Hod (humility) in the way the wind rolled in without asking to be noticed. I felt Yesod, the grounding sefirah, as I walked through a meditation labyrinth garden and let it hold the weightI didn’t even know I was carrying.

I brought a journal, expecting to write something profound. I didn’t. But I doodled. I played with words. I let my imagination meander. That, too, is spiritual practice — the dance between Chochmah (raw inspiration) and Binah (discernment, shaping). I wasn’t creating for anyone else. I was just being a vessel.

 

The Wisdom of Transitions

The weekend also surfaced a truth I often resist: nothing is forever, and nothing is guaranteed.

One of the central teachings of Kabbalah is that we live in a world of impermanence — a world of Malchut, where the divine light is cloaked in time, change, and material reality. We cling, we try to control, we crave stability — but the deeper invitation is to ride the waves, to let go with trust.

I’ve been feeling this lately — in my family, in our communities, in conversations with students who are navigating grief, reinvention, uncertainty. And I’m reminded of a sacred paradox:
Every ending is painful.
Every ending is holy.
And every ending births something new.

This is the space of Ayin — the nothingness that is not empty, but pregnant with possibility.

 

Choosing Joy Anyway

I can’t predict what’s next. None of us can.

But I can choose how I show up — with joy, with presence, with a willingness to keep my heart open.

So this week, I’m choosing to:

• Pause and notice where beauty already lives
• Create for the sake of creating
• Trust that whatever is ending is also making space for something new

If you’re feeling the in-between, you’re not alone. Let’s sit in it together — with curiosity, with compassion, and maybe even with a little laughter.