I have written about this before and maybe I will need to write about it again and again. Happiness is so much work for me. Truthfully, it almost always has been. I can remember the shift, being 11 years old and suddenly losing my grip on that easy childhood happiness. I can see myself staring out at a gloomy day, listening to a particularly angsty Goo Goo Dolls song and just knowing that nothing would be the same again. Objectively, I can see the beauty in every part of my life. I have wished and ached for every bit of it. But I have not always known how to breathe it all in and let it become me. It’s something that comes easily to others and it’s just not the way I am built. I have come to realize that this has been a trade off in my life: my passion, creativity, ferocious hunger for the world, and my bottomless well of empathy has all come at a cost. The truth is you cannot be as in love with the world as I am and not grapple with the flipside, holding the light and the dark both so closely.
Recently, I seem to have turned a corner. There’s a bit of dappled light overhead and I am feeling more and more like this work is beginning to pay off. I am trying little things, like baking delicious food and picking up projects I have shelved for too long. I’ve started planning zero waste Christmas presents that I am actually excited to make. I am making peace with the ever-present sand scattered about my floors and making a true effort to have a sense of humor in my day. When I am leading a silent painting class and a 10-year-old rips the biggest fart imaginable, I am right there buckled over in laughter with the kids. All of those brighter parts of me seem to be slowly popping back into place. I am welcoming them back with open arms.