Love, Radical and Unrelenting

After a three day work trip, I landed too late. I would have to wait another day to see my family, who had already gone up north for a weekend with friends.

It was too risky to drive four hours in the frigid cold only to arrive after midnight.

So I drove home, left my luggage in the car, slept until four, made a cup of tea, and was out the door by 4:25.

Everyone was eating breakfast when I arrived at the cottage, weary. I saw Robyn first, and as I fused into her shoulder it felt as if my soul was remembering her, rising with lightness upward from the soles of my feet.

I have felt this love of pure lightness before.

But then, I kneeled to greet my three oldest sons who were playing on the family room floor. And they hugged me with a type of love I’ve never experienced.

They vaulted onto me. Their love was urgent and rough. It was unbridled, given with no limitation. It was cut roughshod, reckless even.

This love they showed me, with all four of us tumbling over the carpet and squeezing our arms around each other, matched the pent up energy of a banshee. This love was not gentle. This love was like a waterfall that could not be dammed. It was like lightning. It was radical and unrelenting.

I have never experienced love like this, where none of us were holding anything back.

As I look back on this, I find great comfort and wisdom in the existence of this radical and unrelenting love. It teaches that love need not be patient and kind. It affirms that love can be this unrestrained.

You see this sometimes at the international arrivals lobby at airports. Families wait for their loved one to emerge from behind a closed door, maybe a soldier returning from a deployment, and they weep in each others arms without any regard for who is watching. They just pour everything they have, all at once.

Shouldn’t we love others like that? Our closest ones of course, but also everyone, especially the least of us? Shouldn’t we show love as if unchained, with a total disregard for self-editing? Isn’t it the pinnacle of love to be so unconditional that it’s relentless?

Love can be a form of lightness, lifting our souls from the earth. But it can come in the form of something radical and unrelenting. To experience both is to experience something perfect.

Resting Joy Face: What Traveling with Four Kids Taught Me About Joy

SOMEWHERE ABOVE THE ATLANTIC — With four sleepy kids in tow and a long journey ahead of us, I expected stress. Instead, we found kindness. Over and over again.

There was the compassionate and creative Delta agent who somehow found us a way to North Yorkshire with five seats to rebook after a flight delay forced a missed connection. There was John from Mercer Island, who insisted on buying us a piece of chocolate cake and told stories about his bootlegging great-grandfather from Detroit.

There was the barista who saw me wandering with two water bottles and sought me out to fill them. There were over a dozen wedding guests and hotel workers who went out of their way to greet us and share how handsome our sons looked in their suits. The staff at our grandmother’s care home brought us tea and ice cream during our visit and were forgiving of the soccer ball we lost over the fence.

And that’s not even to mention our family—those who traveled with us or spent gleeful time with us all weekend.

There was kindness and grace lurking, it seemed, around every corner.

Part of this, I’m sure, is that we’re not an ominous or intimidating group. Our kids very clearly have a spark of light and warmth that others recognize. Robyn and I are often frazzled, but we tend to carry a peaceful presence nonetheless.

Some people talk disparagingly about women (usually) with a “resting bitch face” (RBF)—that look of default grumpiness.

But I’ve come to believe in something else:

“Resting Joy Face.”

That’s what I’ve started calling it—the unmistakable glow of someone whose default posture is joy, peace, and kindness.

If the inner monologue of someone with RBF is something like, “I want to talk to you for as little time as possible because I’m better than you,” then the inner monologue of RJF might be, “I’m glad you’re here, and I’m glad to simply be here.”

Over the years, I’ve worked hard to change my own inner monologue—from insecurity and arrogance to one of gratitude. That inner work is hard. But it can be done. We can change our inner world—and we should.

That’s the core belief that undergirds my book, Character by Choice: Letters on Goodness, Fatherhood, and Becoming Better on Purpose. Writing it was, in itself, an act of inner work.

But you don’t need to write a book. We can work on our inner lives in so many ways. We can meditate and journal. We can pray or practice daily gratitude. We can spend time in nature and build better habits of deep listening.

There are many paths to a resting face that conveys joy—both secular and sacred. Joy can be taught, learned, and earned.

I share all this because naming this look—resting joy face—made it more real to me. I can now see it more clearly in others, and I feel more aware of when I have it (or don’t) myself.

And most importantly, seeing it so concentrated in such high doses reminded me that it’s worth working on. Life feels more tolerable—and more beautiful—when we cultivate joy and share it.

It’s work that feels more and more essential—just as important, if not more so, than any schooling, college degree, or job training. Inner work is just as vital as professional development. Earning our joy is just as important as earning a living.

I’m someone who sins. Let’s be clear about that. But I’ve spent years doing the inner work—journaling, writing, praying, asking questions, meditating, listening—the whole bit. It’s made a difference. I know that if I can do it, so can you.

If you’re already someone who focuses on inner work, you don’t need my convincing. But if you’ve been avoiding it, I’ll leave you with this:

Inner work is hard—maybe the hardest work we can do. But I swear on my life: it’s worth it.

So if you ever catch a glimpse of Resting Joy Face in someone—or feel it in yourself—know this: it’s not an accident. It’s the fruit of inner work. And it’s worth every moment of struggle it takes to cultivate it.

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If you’re ready to go deeper, Character by Choice is a book I wrote for myself, but decided to share because it’s a guide for inner work I knew others would value. You can purchase it or download a free PDF [http://www.neiltambe.com/characterbychoice].