How to Stay Joyful Without Feeling Guilty

I wake up in the morning and express gratitude. I feel at peace. My intention for the day is happiness and peace. I say: May I be at peace. May I be happy. Then I think of someone I love and send them an offering of peace and happiness. I usually start with my son and daughter, because their joy fills me with even deeper gratitude. As I practice this, I feel my energy circle grow larger.

Sometimes, during this practice, I end by imagining more freedom and abundance in my life. I let myself feel love and well-being flowing effortlessly. Sometimes I picture a bird soaring, and in that moment, I am the bird—already free.

When I rise from my cushion, I get dressed and step into the world. My steps are light and gentle as I move through space and time. I feel like a child, floating through familiar places with new curiosity. Every so often, I smile and take a deep breath. I thank the store clerk, watching how my food is placed into a bag, and again, I feel grateful—grateful that I will share a nourishing meal later that day.

On my way out, I pass a mirror. I pause and lean closer. I notice the lines around my mouth and eyes. For a moment, I slip into the past and reconnect with an old state of consciousness: grief and regret. It feels hollow, like a dark pit pulling me in the longer I stare. Just then, my car key slips from my hand and clangs to the ground. The sound jolts me back. I remember: even in the darkest nights of the soul, I was provided for. That was the key.

Back home, my steps feel heavier, but I keep moving. I turn on my computer and see images of suffering, marketing, and superficiality. Later, I speak with a friend and hear the anger and depression in her voice. I recognize that I, too, could be pulled into that same indignation and sadness if I allow myself to sink back into the dark waters.

I try to lighten her mood with a little laughter. She replies, “Don’t bury your head in the sand, Raquel. This is serious.” A pang of guilt pierces me.

“Am I doing something wrong,” I wonder, “by being happy?”

After hanging up, I sit in my chair. The questions press in: Why am I not suffering when so many are in pain? Why am I healthy while children starve? Why am I safe while bombs fall on families across the world?

My light dims. My back aches. I get up to walk, but my steps falter.

Outside, the sky is heavy with dark clouds. I notice a frail, elderly woman shuffling by, her loneliness etched into her body. A man with gray hair and a round belly swings a golf club in the distance. He looks healthy, happy. Suspicious, I wonder: Did his happiness come at someone else’s expense?

I circle the pond near my house, feeling unsure. My life suddenly seems random, my thoughts reduced to scattered bytes of information about multinational corporations. I think, maybe I should research more when I get inside.

But as I walk further, fatigue weighs on me. Just hours earlier, I had been filled with gratitude and peace. How had it slipped away so quickly?

There had been no change in the outside world—only in my thoughts. Despite 15 years of meditation practice, it was still difficult to steady my mind.

One purpose of daily meditation is to calm the mind—to pause the endless chatter and move toward a state where peace, energy, and openness reside.

Meditation helps us detach from what we cannot control. It makes us aware of the thought patterns that drain our strength. As Geshe Kelsang Gyatso, the Buddhist monk and founder of the Kadampa Center, teaches: a peaceful mind cultivates patience and acceptance. Science, too, reminds us that balance in mind and body creates the conditions for health, resilience, and problem-solving.

I realize my agitation helped no one. It drained me of power, leaving me wandering and overwhelmed. The most meaningful thing I can do is care for my mind, body, and spirit—so I can remain strong and happy. When I encounter sadness in the world, I want to model that it is still possible to show up with an open, trusting heart. There will always be suffering. There will always be challenges, and many beyond my control.

I think of the people I’ve admired over the years. They were steady and calm, their presence soothing when I was distressed. It wasn’t ignorance—they understood the problems of the world. But they carried themselves with curiosity, spaciousness, and peace.

The best teachers among us create safe spaces. They offer a pause, a moment of truce. In their presence, problems that once felt overwhelming seem to settle onto a clean surface.

Sometimes they just float there, while we watch.

I remind myself that my joyfulness is not a betrayal; it is a source of strength that allows me to show up with love, even when the world feels heavy.

Closing Practice:
When guilt arises, pause for a breath. Place one hand on your heart.
Inhale and silently say: “May I be at peace.”
Exhale and say: “May others be at peace.”
Repeat a few times, letting joy and compassion sit side by side.
Notice how peace in you naturally extends outward.