Happiness Doesn’t Last
Our kids were taking a nap. The air was cool, the late afternoon light was soft, and the apartment was quiet. James and I were laying in bed. Two parents enjoying some alone time. We looked at each other and smiled. It was pure bliss.
“This is too perfect, something bad will happen tonight.”
“Don’t think that. Just enjoy right now.”
My thought, as usual, interrupting the moment.
That evening, James and I drove out to get grocery. Grocery shopping is normally a family event, but it was getting late and the kids wanted to be home. Traffic was light, the sunset glow was beautiful, and we were holding hands, still in that blissful state. How rare that we have alone time!
“You should’ve stayed home. What if you guys die from a car accident, your girls would lose both parents.”
My thought doesn’t seem to trust happiness. It’s always skeptical that happiness is a trick.
I don’t think we are meant to be happy ALL the time because that can be tiring, but I wonder if everyone has different emotional rhythm. Some can be happy at longer length than the others and I happen to have longer length of “nothing excites me” kind of emotion. After so much disappointment and being told what I do isn’t good enough, I’ve been conditioned to not be so happy so soon. That’s something I’m very aware of and doing my best to break out the mold. Have you watched Pixar’s Inside Out? I’m Sadness. I even dress like her.
As human, we’re not just one thing with one emotion. As I navigate this path from childhood trauma to living mentally healthy, I’m letting things to just flow through me. Sometimes feeling is on high tide and sometimes it is low. Knowing when to nurture, maybe a hobby, and when to cut, such as a relationship, helps me grow into a calmer person. It’s ok if I’m not happy all the time because there needs to be room for anger, sadness, and even numbness to make my world more 3D, more real, more interesting.
Here’s a poem by Allison Funk that is perfect for this—
On Pruning
Cut it way back.
Do not be afraid to pinch the first,
the only blossom.
The berry cannot thrive in freedom.
Have no mercy, gardener.
Train the tree to a leader
crowned by the uppermost bud.
Make ten o'clock your angle
for the outstretched limbs
of the apple.
Prune when the knife is sharp,
taking care that the scar be neat.
To share the surgeon's belief in healing,
you must trust what has been taken from you
is a blessing.
Trust by April, the cherry and pear
will fill in, stitching
the dreamiest lace, punto in aria,
think of it
as a veil if you must.
And the rose, this is a special
case. When winter's close, cut back
the tallest stems, then with soil
topped with straw or leaves, bury the plant,
make the mound as high as you can,
as if the grave were your own
impermanent home, as if you believed anything
could bloom again.
