Why Not Happily?
Author's Note: I'm using the word 'happy' in this post because that was the word used in the conversation with my friend but I really mean 'joy.' For me, having joy is internal. It is to have a positive spirit, an upbeat outlook on life, and always remembering that bad times will pass. Being happy is a circumstantial feeling that is a reaction to external conditions and is often quite fleeting. So, there you go and please read on...
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When I reinstated my Twitter account, a friend sent a tweet that said, "And, she's back!" I responded with a not quite so cheery, "Yes, not happily, but I am back." He replied, "Why not happily?" and then... well, then that is when the brick hit me between the eyes.
Why not happily, indeed.
If I made the decision to rejoin Twitter (and other social media), why was I acting as though someone had a gun to my head? I made the decision based on reasons that mattered to me and acted on it. It was my call. Just like it was my call to quit in the first place. So, why was I intent on being miserable about it? Why was that even a valid response? It was at that moment that I turned around my attitude and decided to enjoy social media again, still retaining my view that it shouldn't be more important than, or take time away from, 'real life' interactions and relationships. Thankfully, I have that balance again.
Of course, this applies generally to everything, doesn't it? Life is little more than decisions made and actions taken. If we are not being manipulated, coerced, or otherwise tortured into them, we should embrace the decisions we've made, secure in the knowledge that we made the best ones we could, given the situation and information in front of us. Not every decision may make us happy but still, if it's for the best, we should appreciate that.
Very few of us enjoy going to the office when it's a gorgeous day outside. But, we made a decision to work at an office job and abide by the employer's stipulations that to be paid, we must show up. So, does it make sense to grouse about all day, bemoaning the fact that you aren't outside? Do you get any more minutes of sunlight in a day you were grumpy versus a day you were pleasant?
If you aren't happy in your job regardless of the weather, that's different. Or, is it? We are all free to make another decision to quit, or choose a new profession, or move into a tent out West and live off the land, and if we feel we can't do those things for whatever reason (economy, geography, family obligations, fear of snakes, etc.), well, then, that's a decision, too, isn't it?
I guess my long-winded point is, there are so few days in our lives as it is, it just doesn't make sense to spend any more of them in pain or heartache or sadness than absolutely unavoidable. Our attitude is the one thing we have control over so why not choose to have a good one?
Debra, I hope you're listening while you're writing.
Facebook, Twitter, happiness, joy, life, social media in About Well-Being 
Because I Can't Talk About What's On My Mind...
An owl moved into one of my trees a few weeks ago. He hoots early in the morning, before dawn has even broken, and again in the evenings, as the sun is setting. I imagine he sleeps through the heat of the day but I don't know. We haven't had a proper conversation, yet.
The windows are open tonight and I hear him, hoo-hoo-hooing as I'm writing, trying to get my attention, the bird equivalent of a child pulling on your pants leg. I respond every now and then, between thoughts, with my best imitation of a bird whistle, whip-poor-will. I don't hoot because owls are loners and I'm afraid he might move on if he thinks another owl lives close by.
I feel for him. I understand wanting to live alone while at the same time wanting to be acknowledged. To be heard. It can be lonely out there on your own, sometimes.
At least we have each other, my owl and I.
Weathering
Home is a word that has come to mean more than a physical location or building to me. It's a feeling that I am where I belong. Where I can become all that I'm meant to become. I've never felt it where I've lived but I get the sense of it when I'm near the water. The Great Lakes mesmerize me. The oceans, though farther away, are magnetic pulls. When I look out over them, I feel like I imagine a person fully in her element must feel.
That's home.
I've been reading poetry before bed each night this week and stumbled across this one by Fleur Adcock a few nights ago. It's been on my mind since and each time I read it (always aloud, as poems are meant to be read), I cry.
This, too, is how I imagine I'll feel when I'm finally home.
WEATHERING
My face catches the wind
from the snow line
and flushes with a flush
that will never wholly settle.
Well, that was a metropolitan vanity,
wanting to look young forever, to pass.
I was never a pre-Raphaelite beauty
and only pretty enough to be seen
with a man who wanted to be seen
wth a passable woman.
But now that I am in love
with a place that doesn't care
how I look and if I am happy,
happy is how I look and that's all.
My hair will grow grey in any case,
my nails chip and flake,
my waist thicken, and the years
work all their usual changes.
If my face is to be weather beaten as well,
it's little enough lost
for a year among the lakes and vales
where simply to look out my window
at the high pass
makes me indifferent to mirrors
and to what my soul may wear
over its new complexion.
And, I realize, if you're not me (which you aren't), you probably read that and thought, "What? Home? What?" and that's okay. There's something magical in the lines of poetry in that you never know on whose jagged edges of soul they'll snag.
This one just happens to snag on mine.
Dream Burritos and Spreadsheet Goals
I don't like letting go of dreams. It feels like giving up on a friend and failing myself all wrapped up together in a spicy burrito, then, eating that burrito and being up all night with heartburn.
Dream death is hard on me, is what I'm saying.
I've wanted to move for a long time now. It's all that has kept me hopeful and moving forward some days. But I need to let it go. All the signs are telling me this isn't the right time. For the first time on this street, houses are not selling easily. The neighborhood I wanted to move to hasn't had a decent listing since last summer. And, surprisingly enough, I've fallen back in love with my house.
Maybe it was the mild winter that's morphed into an extended spring that is making everything around here seem ideal. Or, maybe my attitude has shifted. Whatever it is, I'm finding more and more reasons to stay. I love my yard. Where else am I going to find a yard with dozens and dozens of pines and birch trees, gorgeous flowers and shrubs, and a berm that vibrates with multitudes of birds and communities of squirrels and rabbits? I love my den that I converted from the small third bedroom at the top of the stairs. I've been in here most of the weekend, writing and reading and looking out at the rain splashing through the tree branches. I like that my neighbors are relatively quiet. I like the woodwork in this house. I like all the character in every angled wall. I love my gloriously large bedroom that can be sunny and bright or dark and cavelike, at my choosing. It's not my dream home, no, but it is a great home.
So, I'm not moving this year. But, I have new goals and I'm more even more excited than I was about moving. Two hours this afternoon were spent on creating a spreadsheet, outlining all the steps, building a budget, and making timelines. You know it's a good goal when I get my nerd on.
This feels huge. Important. And very, very right.
Be happy for me. This is good.
