What is happiness? No, not a definition. No, not the “key” or secret to it. Well, maybe the secret. Is it an equation? Job + family + house = happiness? Or maybe money + health + friends? Here’s a more likely one, I think. Purpose + love (even self-love) + belief (in anything). Maybe I’ve made it too complicated. Maybe, you say, it’s not math. Fine, but I think there are elements that add up to it, concepts and experiences that merge to make for a sense of happiness. Without some of these… well. I won’t say you can’t be happy. But it can happen.
It’s so bizarre how one person can throw so many things out of order, so many lives spun into confusion. Sometimes families go through a fragmentation process, a change from which things may never be what they once were. I’m not really speaking to the family’s most recent loss. I don’t really know what’s going on there. But I think more about my own. When my father died… actually, let me back up a little.
When my father lived, life was sensationally awesome. We weren’t rich. My dad didn’t have a super job. (He’d retired, in fact.) My mom didn’t, either. We didn’t live in a great neighborhood. And yet, things were so great. I was not a lazy kid. I was pretty active–sports, extracurricular clubs, church even. I was really really happy. I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Everything was coming up sunny.
Today… it’s not so sunny. And yes, that’s an understatement, but I don’t have the heart to spill out exactly the degree to which things are not sunny.
I pride myself on being able to express myself through writing, much better than through speaking. I can describe my feelings with pinpoint accuracy, except that to be that honest here would require a willingness to vulnerability I just cannot do.
I’m not happy. I’m not even content anymore. Nothing is okay, not on the inside. And I don’t even know who to tell except people who I don’t know, those of you who read my blog. I have come to you with this, and I’m not even sure why, but these words leak from me like a bad faucet and I’ve decided to just go with it. It’s much better than the alternative of leaking all over everything else, somewhere I’d rather not leak.
And here my writing fails me. What more can I say? How else can I put things without bleeding into sentimentality? An unforgivable act, in my opinion, as it smacks of disingenuousness. So here I leave it.
Thanks for reading.