When the Other Shoe Drops: Why We Struggle to Embrace Joy

We were invited to five weddings this year. All beautiful and unique in their own ways. I love weddings, so I was very happy to RSVP “yes” to each and every one. There’s something so special about witnessing two people say “yes” to love, to partnership, to building a life together—surrounded by friends and family, good food, and (hopefully) great music.

At the fourth wedding, after the fun Friday night Oktoberfest Welcome Party—complete with a German polka band and guests in dirndls and lederhosen—we were treated to a stunning botanical-themed wedding the next day. The nuptials were set in the woods, with the dawning light streaming through the trees like something out of a fairy tale. We moved from there to cocktails in an apple orchard, then dinner and dancing under a majestic tent, strung with chandeliers that sparkled as the night deepened. The following morning, we capped off the weekend with a relaxed farewell brunch.

It was, in every sense, magical.

Later that morning, we chatted with the father of the bride. Still glowing with joy, he described the weekend as “perfect.” And then, with a slight shift in his voice, he added, “It’s just too good. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

That phrase—waiting for the other shoe to drop—hung in the air.

My thoughts immediately went to his recent life experiences. His new house had burned down in the California wildfires. His mother-in-law had passed away. Life had not been easy of late. One might say that several shoes had already dropped, and this weekend was the upswing—a moment of beauty after a long season of loss. And yet, I couldn’t blame him. Who among us hasn’t felt that way when things feel too good to be true?

When we’ve lived through pain, fear, or loss, it’s almost like our nervous system becomes conditioned to expect the worst. Joy starts to feel dangerous, like a setup for disappointment. And so, we brace ourselves—even in the midst of beauty.

The Brain's Bias Toward the Negative

There’s a reason for this. Our brains are wired to scan for danger—a survival mechanism rooted deep in our evolutionary history. Our ancestors had to be hyper-aware of threats in order to stay alive. That same system still operates today, even though our threats now look more like work deadlines, social comparison, or financial stress.

Neuroscientific research shows that we experience stronger neural responses to negative stimuli than to positive ones. This is known as the negativity bias, and it means that we tend to remember criticism more than praise, failures more than successes, and pain more than joy.

Many years ago, I taught customer service training. One of the studies I often referenced revealed that when someone has a good customer service experience, they might tell one or two people. But when they have a bad one, they’ll tell seven—or even nine. The bad sticks with us. And we pass it on.

So, when the father of the bride said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, I understood. His nervous system was doing what it thought it needed to do: protect him. It was trying to warn him not to get too comfortable, not to get too used to joy. Because if he did, and something bad happened again, the fall would hurt more.

But here’s the question that matters: What does this cost us?

The Toll of Constant Vigilance

We often believe that if we stay on guard, we’ll be better prepared. If we imagine the worst, it won’t hurt as much when it happens. If we expect disappointment, we won’t be blindsided.

And maybe there’s some logic to that. Preparation is valuable. No one wants to be caught off-guard. Being realistic, grounded, and ready is part of being a functional adult.

But living in constant anticipation of pain? That’s something else entirely.

When we’re always in “fight or flight,” even subtly, our nervous system never gets to relax. Our stress hormones stay elevated. Our immune system suffers. Our sleep, digestion, focus, and emotional regulation all take a hit. Over time, this kind of hypervigilance becomes chronic stress—and that takes a toll not just on our bodies, but on our capacity to experience joy.

Because here’s the kicker: if we’re always bracing for the fall, we’re never fully in the moment. We miss the sparkle of the chandeliers, the laughter around the brunch table, the warm hug from someone we haven’t seen in years. We miss the magic—because we’re already preparing for it to end.

Can It Be Changed?

The good news is yes—this pattern can be changed. Like most things, awareness is the first step.

Start by simply noticing when your brain goes into “What if?” mode:

• “What if this is too good to last?”

• “What if something bad happens?”

• “What if I’m not allowed to be this happy?”

Pause. Breathe. Ask yourself: Is this fear helping me right now? Or is it robbing me of a moment I could be enjoying?

Then, gently remind yourself that it’s safe to feel good. Safe to be in the moment. Safe to let joy live in your body, even if just for now.

We often think that staying prepared means staying tense. But there’s another kind of preparation: building resilience. The ability to feel joy, knowing that life is uncertain. The ability to hold gratitude in one hand and grief in the other. To say: Yes, I’ve lived through hard things. And right now, I’m allowing myself to feel this good thing.

That’s not denial. That’s strength.

So, What If the Shoe Drops?

Here’s a radical idea: Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. Life will have hard moments again. We know that. But why let the possibility of future pain steal the gift of present joy?

What if the shoe never drops—and you spent the whole time worrying it might?

Or what if it does drop, and you’re still strong enough to handle it, precisely because you let yourself rest in the good while it was here?

We can't control when or how life challenges us. But we can decide how we meet joy. With skepticism, or with open arms.

Final Thoughts

If you find yourself waiting for the other shoe to drop, you’re not alone. It’s a deeply human response to a life that doesn’t always play fair. But I invite you to consider: What if this moment—the laughter, the beauty, the celebration—isn’t a trap? What if it’s exactly what you need?

Let the shoes fall where they may, but don’t miss the dance waiting for them to drop.