Vicarious Joy

Returning from Almirante to Changuinola on the bus yesterday, I saw a young girl and her mother up ahead, waiting for the bus. They were at a remote location – one of those places where people wait who are from tiny remote villages or isolated houses. The girl was jumping up and down, grinning ear to ear  and pointing at the bus, while simultaneously dragging her Mom toward it. She was clearly was excited about this trip. As she boarded the bus, she proudly announced “Buenos Tardes”. And when most of the bus answered her greeting, she giggled and lifted her shoulders in satisfaction. I watched her the rest of the way into town, gazing out the window and turning to inspect the other passengers. I found myself smiling a huge smile and imagining that this is a trip she rarely gets to make and was relishing every minute of it.

It was at that moment that I realized how much pleasure I get from vicarious joy. Watching other people appreciate and enjoy this world gives me joy, as well. At one level, the joy was not mine. I can’t be sure what the girl actually felt. But I can still enjoy it, thanks to that marvel of humanity known as imagination. And thanks to that gift, the joy I feel is my own and is quite real.

I am profoundly grateful for that gift and all the other pleasures I derive from being alive on this planet.