Practicing Compersion

I believe in and practice compersion.

Part of that means that if one consistently embodies that concept, we don't usually feel the need for others' approval to enjoy our pursuits.

But how would you answer this question, which recently came from a colleague over a coffee conversation:

Sometimes I just want to share my joy with my partner, but they're not interested. "Just go enjoy what you want to do," they say. How can I keep my joy when I'm alone... even if I don't want to be?

Full self-disclosure here: I didn't have a quick answer, a leading question, or a humorous anecdote.

It was a full-stop moment.

What is described is a difficult version of a very common emotional experience:

Wanting your joy to be witnessed by people you love, only to find they don't always have the interest, bandwidth, or inclination to share it.

Compersion is often described as taking joy in someone else's happiness.

But there's a related need that's just as human: Wanting someone to take joy in our happiness.

Those are different things.

If a partner consistently doesn't engage with the things that light you up, it can leave you feeling oddly alone even when nothing is "wrong."

Here are a few thoughts we came up with:

• Separate the joy from the witness. Your joy is real regardless of who sees it... or, in this case, who doesn't. The hard part isn't that the joy disappears—it's that celebration often feels richer when it's shared. Recognizing that distinction can help us avoid interpreting a lack of enthusiasm as evidence that our joy isn't worthwhile.

• Be specific about what you're asking for. Instead of hoping they'll naturally match our excitement, we might say, "I don't need you to get into this hobby—I just want you to celebrate with me for a minute because I'm really happy." Sometimes people are willing to witness without sharing the underlying interest.

• Accept differences without assuming indifference. Partners may love us without loving every topic that excites us. That's normal. The question becomes whether they can still show curiosity or delight because we're delighted.

• Build a wider circle of witnesses. One person — or even several partners — can't always meet every emotional need. Friends, hobby communities, online groups, or people who share a particular interest can become the people who genuinely "get" that kind of joy. That doesn't diminish your relationships; it distributes your emotional ecosystem.

There's also a deeper question:

How can I keep my joy when I alone... even if I don't want to be?

The goal isn't to become someone who never needs witnesses. Humans are social. We evolved to celebrate together. Instead, it might help to practice holding two truths simultaneously:

I'm sad that no one is sharing this with me, and I'm still glad this wonderful thing happened.

Those emotions don't cancel each other out. We don't have to extinguish our joy to acknowledge the loneliness.

One exercise some people find useful is to become an attentive witness to themselves. After something exciting happens, instead of immediately reaching for your phone, spend a few minutes asking yourself:

• What exactly am I excited about?

• What does this mean to me?

• What feeling do I want someone else to reflect back to me?

Sometimes writing it down, taking a photo for yourself, or lingering with the moment can help the joy settle before you seek someone else's response. It doesn't replace connection, but it can make the joy feel more stable.

If you're under 30 years of age, you've never been without a computer or a mobile device to share your life with friends, family, or strangers from all over the globe — if you have a well-followed social media account.

Are we to believe that, for eons before we owned handheld devices to share our personal adventures, millions of people throughout the world in our time didn't enjoy what they did or saw, just because they were alone?

Of course not.

The truth is that while we may want the world to be excited for us — or our partner — and comment on our postings, the vast majority don't even know we exist, let alone be excited about our wins. And, the people who are followed by millions? No one can prove they are any happier than someone who lives alone in the forest. Sadly, the opposite is more likely the case for the would-be influencer.

Finally, it's worth noticing the pattern over time. Is this occasional — our partner simply isn't interested in a particular topic? Or is it broader — that they rarely seem curious about our inner world, our accomplishments, or our delight?

Those are different situations. The former is an ordinary mismatch of interests. The latter could indicate an unmet relational need worth discussing openly.

If you're interested in discussing this further, use these two questions to ponder or write about yourself:

Can you think of a recent example where you wanted to share your excitement?

What was the joyful thing, and how did your partner respond?

If you decide to do that, a next step might be to share those thoughts with the other person.

Just a thought...

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