Joy as Infrastructure: a rebuilding practice
In a season shaped by loss, uncertainty, and whiplash, many of us are carrying a strange mix of exhaustion and clarity. Something has burned. Some things are still smoldering. And beneath the pressure to “move on,” we can feel the deeper question that refuses to go away: How do we rebuild without becoming harder, smaller, or crueler in the process?
This year, the Nina Collective is gathering under a new theme: “After the Fire: Rebuilding Together.” In a world that often feels engulfed by crisis and disconnection, the members of our community have been asking: What does it mean to rebuild when everything familiar has burned down? And perhaps even more importantly, how do we sustain our humanity as we do it?
At the heart of this conversation is something the nINA Collective calls the Joy Doctrine — a practice rooted in justice, belonging, and the belief that joy is not an escape from struggle but the very infrastructure that makes transformation possible.
What We Mean by “After the Fire”
As ananda reflected, “Fire” is both metaphor and lived experience. Around the world, people face daily “burns” — poverty, racism, ecological collapse, displacement, and violence. These are not abstract. They are the ongoing crises that force people to fight for shelter, food, dignity, and safety.
Yet, fire also illuminates. It reveals what systems are unjust, what structures must be transformed, and what must never return. Rebuilding “after the fire” does not mean going back to normal; it means forging something new — one built on interdependence, honesty, and care.
Rebuilding, as ananda reminds us, “is quieter, slower, and far more relational than destruction.” It requires moving at the speed of trust.
The Joy Doctrine: Joy as Infrastructure
When Alia introduced the Joy Doctrine, she described it as “a methodology for justice through joy.” It's about ensuring that our movements for equity don’t reproduce the very domination and cruelty we’re trying to end.
Joy, she explained, is not avoidance or toxic positivity. It is disciplined. It’s the practice of choosing dignity in conflict, repair over disposal, and curiosity over contempt. In other words, joy sustains our capacity to do hard things without losing compassion — for others and for ourselves.
Alia calls this “truth without terror and accountability without cruelty.” It means we can face hard truths without humiliation, hold each other accountable without erasing belonging, and stay human under pressure — even when the work is uncomfortable.
Practicing Joy in Real Time
During the session, Alia offered a simple exercise called the Joy Protection Plan — a way to ground joy in daily life:
Name your heat. Identify what’s currently causing stress or intensity.
Set a boundary. Choose one small way to reduce that heat by 10–20%.
Choose restoration. Select a brief, repeatable action that restores you — a walk, a song, a meal, a moment of prayer.
Anchor in connection. Reconnect with a person or community that reminds you who you are.
Then say aloud:
“This week, I’m protecting my joy by [boundary], returning to [restoration], and connecting with [relationship].”
This exercise may sound simple, but as the team joked, the “heat is hot.” It isn’t always easy — yet even this gentle structure can help create space for breath, reflection, and human connection.
Joy as the Bones of the Movement
Jacquie described joy as “infrastructure — the bones that keep us standing upright.” Without it, movements burn out. With it, imagination, courage, and endurance stay alive.
Alia added, “Where the joy goes, the movement goes. With joy, people have stamina. People have imagination.” Joy, in this frame, is not a luxury; it is fuel for justice and repair.
Remembering and Relearning How to Be Human
ananda closed with a story of caring for her elderly aunt, who is relearning how to chew — something she had done instinctively for 80 years. The story became a metaphor for our collective work: “Let’s remember what it is to practice joy, what it is to be human. We have to relearn it.”
The Joy Doctrine, then, isn’t an add-on or a feel-good slogan. It’s a living practice — a daily act of remembering how to remain whole while working toward liberation, together.
Practice for the week:
Before your next hard conversation, pause and ask yourself:
Which value do I want to lead with — dignity, care, courage, or truth?
Let that value guide how you speak. It changes everything.
Join the CHOIR
If you want more practices like this, and you want to be in conversation with people who are rebuilding with honesty and imagination, we would love to have you in our CHOIR Conversations and our wider Community of Practice.
We gather monthly to share tools, stories, and strategies for moving through this moment with integrity, care, and real companionship. Come build with us.