The Monica in me wishes to be Joey

For the first twenty years of my life, I didn’t know the phrase “English sitcom” existed. Then came a cozy, legendary December Sunday morning in Bengaluru -the kind of crisp morning only true locals can properly romanticize.

My roommate and I were channel surfing when she paused on Star World. A re-run of Friends was on. “Have you seen this episode?” she asked. I shook my head innocently. “I haven’t even watched this serial.”

If looks could kill, I would have been buried right there under our hostel bunk beds. She gave me a look of pure, unadulterated horror. Serial?! How had I missed this cultural phenomenon that was “oh-so-funny” and completely “in”?

As fate would have it, the episode playing was “The One Where No One’s Ready.” Within minutes, my bewildered expressions turned into wide smiles. And when Joey walked into the room wearing literally all of Chandler’s clothes, doing bizarre lunges? I was a goner. Hooked. Cut to me renting DVDs, binge-watching over weekends, and fast-forwarding twenty years later: I am now that mildly annoying person who knows the dialogues in and out.

But watching it on a loop has made me realize something heavy. I did not realize when and how did I become ahigh-strung, hyper-organized Monica. But what if we chose to be a Joey instead?

Joey Tribbiani is, hands down, my absolute favorite. He is the zen master the universe sent us, disguised as a struggling actor. While my inner Monica is constantly running a mental checklist, here is why I secretly want to channel my inner Joey:

• The Ultimate Safety Net: Joey has Chandler. Chandler pays for acting classes, finances his roommate’s low-IQ naivety, and literally promises him a “Joey room” in his future adult house. We all need a Chandler.
• The Art of Not Giving a Damn: When someone asks Joey how he manages to never worry about anything, he just shrugs his shoulders and says, “Like this.” Oh boy. How I wish the over-stressed, spreadsheet-loving Monica in me could do that. It doesn’t solve the problem, but it gives you a glorious, fleeting moment to just chill.
• The Spaghetti Philosophy: Remember when Rachel moves in with Joey and accidentally drops spaghetti on the carpet? She panics, apologizing profusely. Joey’s response? He drops a clump of his own pasta on the floor to make her feel better and says, “It’s okay.” My inner Monica cringed so hard I think my soul left my body. But man, what a beautiful way to live.
• “Joey Doesn’t Share Food!”: A boundary I desperately want to enforce when people casually dig into my fries. Don’t get me wrong, I love cooking. It’s my ultimate stress-buster. But even the chef needs a break. Sometimes, instead of being the host baking fresh batches of cookies and filling jam bottles, I just want to walk into a friend’s house and find a majestic buffet lined up for me to raid.
• Riding the Waves: Joey is the king of going with the flow. Audition failed? No problem. His iconic character, Dr. Drake Ramoray, gets tragically killed off a cliff? No problem. His chaotic agent Estelle can’t find him work? No biggie. He’ll just sit at home and build a monstrously oversized entertainment unit.
• Unfiltered, Uncomplicated Truth: He is beautifully simple. Give him a “Joey Special” (two pizzas) or a meatball sub, and he is a happy man. Because his view of the world isn’t cluttered, he’s often the only one who speaks the absolute truth. When Ross was about to isolate himself in a terrible apartment just because of his divorce from Emily, everyone else walked on eggshells. It was Joey who stepped up and told him like it was.
• Delusional (but Desirable) Self-Confidence: The man has an unwavering, positive opinion of himself. He’s the handsome, smooth Casanova who thinks giving love coupons for birthdays is a premium gift! Compare that to Monica, who spent her whole life desperate for her mother’s approval, constantly feeling inadequate despite making all the right choices.

Let’s be real: I am never going to fully morph into a carefree, fiercely loyal, simple-minded Joey. On the days I try to let go, shrug my shoulders, and say “I don’t care,” my brain will instantly betray me. A tiny voice will scream, “Oh, but you need to finish that chore!” or “Darn it, there are wet clothes sitting in the washer!”

But someday, maybe I’ll pipe down just a little.

Until then, I am forever grateful for this show. Whenever I’ve had a dull, exhausting, or heavy day, I switch on an episode. For those 30 or 60 minutes, the world fades away. The inner Monica finally sits down, stops cleaning, and just laughs it off. For those 30 minutes, I get to be Joey.