Amidst the various aromas of chain food, the brightly colored menus and the families with loads of loot from a day well spent at the mall, my mother and I discuss happiness.
It is no secret that my mother has changed. A piece of her died when her parents passed. Her closeness to her mother was something to admire. They talked everyday on the phone. Every morning in a three way conversation with my aunt.
6:30am on the dot. That was their ritual. For years.
That was my mother's happy place. Those long distance phone calls. Her morning conference call was the equivalent to most folks' morning caffeine.
I must say that my grandmother was and will always be remembered as a remarkable woman. Someone who loved everyone. Blind. Literally and figuratively. She passed no judgement and was the most selfless person I've ever known. Her name was Shirley. Also commonly referred to as Shirl Girl.
My mother was close to Shirley. And since a cold November day in 2010, my mother hasn't been the same.
And as life would have it, tragedy struck again when my mother's father passed an exact 2 years and 2 weeks after her mother.
Since November 2012, my mother has had to cope with the loss of her best friend, her parents, and her happy place.
No longer does my mom feel the need to visit her childhood home. What's left is not the same, and most of the family has up and moved away.
My mother has lost that twinkle in her eye. That spark that made her so loving and joyful.
She knows it.
I know it.
I assume that others have caught on.
...And thus I cannot relate.
But I can empathize.
For I have my parents. I haven't (fortunately) lost anyone that mattered that much to me as her parents did her.
I want to help her. I want to shake her and sprinkle the joy back into her bones. I want to trade places and let her see what it's like to be a young adult again. For I know that I am lucky to have my entire future in front of me.
But that's where we were.
Two lost souls in the middle of a food court. Pondering life over our picked-at rice meals.
What is happiness?
I proclaimed that it was really just a facade that people hide behind and pretend to be happy. For are people really "happy?" What does that even mean.
My mother decided it meant to be okay and content with your life and your passions.
But I don't think that's right. I don't think happiness should be complacent or something you settle for.
For as long as I can remember when people (or countless scholarship essays )would ask me to define what I wanted to be when I got older, I would always want to be happy. I used to define the pleasures of happiness were equivalent to those of succeeding. And each person defines it a different way.
I do not believe I have a "happy place." I think my memories and dreams are what make me happy.
Moments in time that I can find stashed away in my mind. Times where I'd smile to myself, where I'd cry tears of joy. Moments when I'd be singing at the top of my lungs, when I achieved something off my bucket list. Those are the times that create happiness for me.
But I cannot tell you if I am happy in the now.
I feel like I'm still floating, wading, rather in a pool. It feels shallow at times, but as soon as I stick my hand in the water, my heart races knowing that I could sink or swim.
And that's life.
I think.
I am no pro. Yet.
There are people and things and moments and places that help to remind you of happiness. But I don't know if you can define being happy as a current emotion. Let's take graduating... I wasn't "happy" in the moment. Everything was happening so fast. I was trying to digest what was going on around me. It was surreal. And now, I can look back on the photos and judging by my candid, cackling-smile photos, I know that I was achieving something. And that makes me happy, I think?
I had no mood ring to confirm if I was happy.
Life doesn't come complete with a mood ring. Or directions for that matter. Life: accessories not included.
Are people really happy? Or are they pretending? Do we try way too hard pretending to be something that we're not in order to present ourselves in a fashion in which we think will make society happy? Is that happiness?
These are the the thoughts that I have. Late at night. Having an existential crisis from the comfort of my twin size bed. Or the table at the mall food court eating steak and rice with my mother.
I think happiness is an option, not a priority. Or a necessity. Living is. And I'll just continue to move forward.
