Defining A Happy Place

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. 

A Tale of 'Never Been Kissed'

I've had the privilege of being published in my school's paper, check it out! 

The Northerner: A tale of 'never been kissed'

(p.s. it was in honor of Valentine's Day nearing, and as most of you know, this is real). 

Getting To Know Someone...

I think my problem lies in the fact that I try to break the surface too fast. Sometimes I want to fast forward through the small talk, and really get to know someone. Their goals, their families, their fears, what makes them passionate, etc. and maybe that's too scary to people. 

I, myself am someone who is terrible at nocking down these walls that I have so perfectly built over the years. 

If I think you're cool... Game over. 

I will ask you how your life is, what inspires you, what music best describes your personal soundtrack, etc. if you're cool, I will insist that we hang out and get to know one another. I will sprout out ideas as if I am the Facebook event invites that you receive everyday. I will talk a lot. But I will listen even more. For I want to know you. Like really know you. I want to know what you were like as a child, who your best friends are and why you have that scar below your lip. 

This may be intimidating. This may be pushy, or involve too much prying, but I think it needs to be done. I don't want to have conversation that ends up with us repeating the same monotonous details about ourselves that everyone knows. I want to know interesting stories, quirks that you have and how you came to get a certain nickname. 

Is that weird? 

Maybe I feel as though if someone shares some information with me, they will ask me in return. Making conversation, but digging deeper than the surface. I like having those types of chats where I can see your eyes spark with interest as you discuss in detail the ideas that drive you to success. I want you to realize that I don't get to talk about myself often, and when I do, my eyes start to water-- for I do not get serious very often. But I'm giving you this opportunity, as a two way street to delve into my life as we explore yours as well. 

But I can see how that is terrifying. And I can see why you would not want to partake in this. 

But I want this. I want to not just scratch the surface, I want to learn about you. Work to understand you. I want to "get you".


As always,

live it. love it. caress it.

First Encounter

He caught her stare far too long ago. It seems like years or decades, but it has only been a few short months.  He was gussied up in a suit and tie in the line of the local coffee shop.  The gentleman had a gaggle of girls within arms reach, yet he looked uninterested.  Writing material in hand, she wasn’t sure if he were real.  For she had only seen characters like him on the silver screen, or in drawn-up scenarios in her dreams.  Yes, he was a dream.  He had to be. 

She had to talk to him. This boy. This man. This guy whom had appeared out of no where.  She had frequented that shop so many times prior and had never seen his face.  Was he new to town?  Was he here on business? Or was he in fact a dream -- a figment of her overly-analyzing imagination. 

Yes, he was tall, mysterious, yet so full of life; with vibrant eyes and a charming smile.  With books in hand, she knew he was about to set in on a literary journey, conquer the world, or casually write the next Shakespearean play.  Who knows.  He was a man of adventure and lust as she could see it.  With his hair slicked back, grey pieces mixed to create a suit.  This man was polished.  He was poised.  He was dare we say it... perfect.   

She, an innocent girl standing in line to order a chai tea (most likely), and him, a handsome boy dressed to the nines.  She stood there in shock and utter embarrassment.  She could feel her mouth gaping and her heart stopping.  He had caught her stare.  Not for a moment, but for what felt like an eternity.  He was just the kind of person she’d been praying to stumble upon in one of these romantic-comedy-like scenarios.  And here it was, happening right then and there.

To her. Of all people. 

She doubted the encounter meant anything to him.  But she also knew this was her chance.  She was sure he got that all the time, but she had to talk to him. This guy. 

So, as he finished his order, she tapped his shoulder. 

...There it was, the first touch... 

He turned to look at her.  Time stood still.

She complemented his style... how she was able to utter words is still amazing.  He, in turn, complemented her outfit. Telling her he appreciated anyone who didn’t dress like everyone else.  

She was smitten.  

He had noticed her. 

They exchanged names.  And that was that.  

He was impossibly charming and she was taken back.  Never had she met someone who intimidated, yet mystified her in such a manner as he.  She had only hoped their paths would cross again. 

...

Months went by.  She hadn’t seen him for quite some time. She was sure he had moved.  He'd probably met the exotic love of his life and was sailing around the world at that very moment.  She could tell he had history about him.  He had some stories to tell, and she wanted to hear all of them.  She wanted to listen to old vinyl with him, drink coffee and discuss the dilemmas of the world.  She wanted to spend time with him and just sit in silence.  Taking on the world with one 80s film after another.  But that would never happen. 

Not for her. 

Months passed, and she kept that moment of their first encounter in her mind. She longed for a day when he’d want to sit down with her and talk. About everything and nothing. One of those kind of moments.  They'd drink tea in a crowded coffee shop and exchange stories of their travels and dreams.  

Until their paths cross again, she’ll hold onto that memory of the moment that he caught her stare in that coffee shop on that warm, summer day.