I should disclose at the outset that this is not a "How To" piece. If I knew how to find my joy, I'd surely have located it by now. But I've been thinking about happiness since Ross "What Women Want" Douthat declared why women are unhappy in his New York Times column last week.

I'm sure the people who worked on that study went to a lot of time and effort to come to their conclusion that women today are not as happy as their 1960s counterparts. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's at least in part because it's not as easy to get valium. But I also wonder if it's really true that women today are less content.

For example, I don't think my mom was particularly happy in the 60s. She spent the entire decade in the company of the world's biggest jackass. (That's not hyperbole.) As for the rest of her life, I think, like most of us, she had ups and downs. The ups probably feel so good because you're thanking your lucky stars that you're not in a down. 

There is a point to this post. Be patient. I'm getting there.

I love watching two-year olds because when they find their joy, it's easy to recognize. Unable to contain it, unable to express it, their little bodies just vibrate with it. Watching them, for a fleeting moment, I can find joy alongside them. I suppose that's called empathy. But I digress.

Two weeks ago, I went to see a Motown band at a local bar. It's not my favorite music, but I was invited and wanted to be with my friends. So, we walk in and get situated, and I look up at the stage. And there, right in front of me, was pure, unadulterated joy--in the form of one Billy "Stix" Nicks.

Billy is in his mid-70s and he has been playing the drums professionally for over 50 years. He's performed with many of the Motown greats (the Four Tops, Marvin Gaye, Gladys Knight, the Temptations, and the Supremes, among others), and he's performed with his own bands. He spent the latter part of his childhood in Northern Indiana and at some point returned here to live. Now, he also teaches in addition to headlining a couple Motown groups.

After 50 years of playing the same songs, you'd think it might be rote to him; that he'd get up on stage, sit down at his drum kit, and turn on the auto pilot. 

But as he played, I could not take my eyes off of this man. He plays the drums like he has just discovered the thing that he loves best in this world. He sings along, a gigantic grin in place of a microphone. And like a two-year old, Billy's body simply vibrates with joy on stage. 

At intermission, he came into the audience and everybody wanted to talk to him and to shake his hand. I heard a couple people remark that he was a legend. I'm sure that's part of it. But more than that, I think they were hoping that if they could lay their hands on him, maybe they'd get in on the secret--maybe some of his joy would rub off.

I'm not a Pollyanna most of the time, and I'd guess that some nights during the past fifty plus years, Billy wasn't so joyful on stage. He probably had fights with his wife and worries about the mundane crap we all deal with. But after more than five decades, Billy can still find his joy, on an ordinary Friday night, in an ordinary bar, playing ordinary songs. For one night at least, I got to watch. I hope maybe some of it will rub off on me too.