Piece of Cake

I must be getting old.

Why do you think that?

I don't like change.

Ah....

What's that supposed to mean?

Nothing. Just understanding.

You don't like change either?

Nope.

Ah....

I presume that you have a point?

.......... I find my ideas about certain things have shifted. Changed, I guess, you'd say. But that feels too strong a word. And it makes me feel old.

......

You know, I don't think happiness is what we think it is.

Really!

{sigh} No.

So... what is it? 

I'm not sure I know actually but I'm pretty certain that real happiness is something you feel even when you feel like . . . horrible.

Hmmm, that's an interesting concept.

{sigh} Not really. Please don't raise your eyes like that. No telling what could happen.

What do you mean?

I mean anyone who can snap his fingers and create the world... well, what havoc might raising your brows cause?

Ah ...I never thought of it that way. I didn't actually snap my fingers, you know. I did a bit more work than that. But let's get back to your idea.

I'm pretty sure that our perception of happiness is . . . well, a fabrication.

You mean a lie?

Well, no, yes, kind of....

.......

I think somewhere along the way we've been taught or convinced ourselves that happiness is  . . . well, like a present that someone hands us and we unwrap it and inside is exactly what we've been wanting.

Happiness?

No, no, no. I can't explain it. Think of it this way. There is a beautiful box with our name on it. We get so excited and bubble over with what we call joy. Someone hands the box to us and the feeling grows. We open it and it grows even more. Inside is what we've always wanted and we almost explode with happiness at this point. The whole process is what we perceive as happiness. If someone smashes the gift, takes it away from us, or tells us it was a mistake we perceive that as an absence of happiness.

Sadness.

Yes.

And you think this is all a fabrication?

I think it is a construct of our own making. We create this idea of happiness and it is wrong. Real happiness isn't fleeting. Real happiness isn't transitional.  It remains. As long as we allow it.

How?

Well.... I don't know. I don't know what brings it. I don't know how to keep it. And I don't know what makes it leave. Yet.

I see. You're optimistic.

Not usually.

How did you arrive at this ... conclusion?

That's strange.

Some folks think these conversations are strange. Humor me.

Despite being ill for weeks, having people annoyed at me, dealing with situations that frustrate me, and being very tired I feel something I can't explain. I feel . . .

Happy?

This will sound crazy, too, but I don't like that word.

Explain.

Because I think it is a lie. It isn't a real thing at all. It is just a word we give to express a feeling that is temporary and ephemeral. What I feel I'm afraid to call happy.

That is interesting. What would you call it?

I'm not sure there is a word. Let's just say there is something inside me . . . singing.

Singing?

Yes. That's as close as I can come. But I don't feel "good". I'm kind of bummed, in fact. But it is like my brain isn't getting it.

Hmmmm...... 

I told you, crazy.

I think you should keep thinking this way. 

I think I'm going to get a piece of cake.

#ConversationsWithHim

The Search for Happiness

I've been missing Jerry a lot of late. I usually do between November and February. I suppose it came late this year. It isn't a continuous pain but a sudden, stabbing in the hollow places of my heart. 

Yesterday, as I drove home from work through a neighborhood with some lovely homes, I was assailed with longing for something I think I was unaware that I had ever possessed. The average-middle class homes arrayed along a gentle, curving street with neat yards that had received years of attention were a bit above the lower middle-class income we had but it wasn't about that. It was more.

Yearning is a little used word these days but that is the only word that works for what I was feeling. As I drove along, my mind filled in blanks with children tumbling on a green carpet and a small dog barking and scrambling to be a part of the excitement. The windows glowed with evening lights and the smell of fresh cut grass and barbeque seemed to drift on the air. But it didn't. It was all in my head and I ached with the thoughts of it all. 

I left the neighborhood and entered my own, slightly more modest section. As I did so, in the midst of all that painful yearning I heard myself say, "I've had a good life." There is a sense of disbelief even when I write it because I don't remember ever thinking that in my whole life. Life has been hard. At times, nearly impossible. There is not enough time, nor am I inclined to share the worst of it. 

Recently, my mind began to trot out memories that I didn't really forget but rather, had neglected in favor of less appealing ones. And ... the truth is ... I've had a great life. I'm overwhelmingly blessed and favored. I know this. That was a new feeling, an almost devastatingly painful feeling. It hurt terribly to think it. Not because it wasn't a wonderful realization but because I had failed to recognize it until I am an old woman. This is something we should know when we're young. Maybe other people do. I don't know. I just know I never knew it. At least, I don't think I did.

The feeling clung to me the rest of the evening and today but I still had trouble believing it. My life had so many twists and turns that it was hard to imagine it as "great".

I was given away to grandparents and it was the best thing that could have happened to me, despite a childhood filled with the ugliness of alcohol. I had wonderful aunts, uncles, and cousins, the memories of whom still make my heart smile. 

I was 17 when Mama died but I married a wonderful man who only wanted to make me happy the rest of his life. And he tried every day, for the next 35 years.

At 21, I was in Europe and I walked the halls of ancient castles and palaces. I climbed trails in the Bavrian Alps, slaked my thrist from an icy artisian well, and gazed over parapets at beautiful green valleys. I strolled the Champs Elysee, climbed the Eiffel Tower, and stared at the flying buttresses and stained glass of Notre Dame. I shopped in Germany. I lived in five US states. I've slept under stars, hiked woodland trails, and swam in the ocean. I've played in the sand, dug in the dirt, and laid on the grass and painted clouds. I've laughed, cried, and raged over wonderful, foolish, and dreadful things.

It is a mystery to me how I missed all that. Although, I think the truth is that I didn't miss it... then. I miss it all now. I crave the excitement and the laughter and the mystery that each of those days provided. I long for the feeling of walking along a Paris street on Jerry's arm. Now life seems so tame, so bland, so predictable. For someone who stood in the throne room of a once great king, today feels anticlimactic. 

Yet, today whispered a secret in my ear. "I've had a great life." I've been blessed with more than wealth, more than fame. I've rocked my babies and watched them grow into wonderful men. I sang to my grandchild and am amazed at her beautiful soul and smile that blinds me. I still have aunts, uncle, cousins, and siblings that shower me with love.  

No, I have not done all the things I wanted to do but I have done a lot of things I never dreamed I would do. So, perhaps happiness is not something you look for, but rather something you find. And a wonderful life is determined solely by your perspective.