I Have Been Thinking a Lot About Happiness

So I've been thinking a lot about happiness. We live in a world that, as is quite unsurprising for humans, encourages people to find happiness. Wherever they think it may be. We are programmed from the moment of birth to chase that happiness and it becomes our goal. This doesn't seem at a glance to be something bad. There isn't anything wrong with being happy or wanting to have happiness, but I have to break it you, happiness can't be owned. Happiness is a FEELING. Feelings are TEMPORARY. I do want to pause here and say mental illness is not a feeling, and I don't in any way want to discredit things like depression. But for people who don't have depression or other mental illness',humans are not perpetually stuck in one feeling all the time. Feelings come and go as needed or when situations or events change. The idea that we can somehow attain a feeling and keep it is erroneous and only leads to a captive life. As soon as that feeling is replaced by another, whether as a warning from our bodies or minds or from something else, we think we have to make a change to get it back. And so we are stuck in a never ending loop of losing and trying to find for our entire lives. Our goal should not be happiness. Instead, I challenge you to search for contentment. No, I don't mean the feeling of contentment, I mean a state of realizing where we are in life, and being able to say, "You know, if I had one wish, there isn't really anything I would change." Sure, a little extra income would be nice, but on the whole, my life is good. There are things I may have done that I regret but regretting is the opposite of contentment and we are again stuck in a loop of losing and not being able to get back. The past cannot be changed. We are here now, what can we do but move on and make new decisions that push us towards that life we want. Not the life that will make us happy. Maybe just a life we like.

I want to leave you with this final thought or challenge. Stop living in this prison of chasing a single feeling. Embrace all the crazy, pleasant, unpleasant, and relaxed feelings that come and go and take from them what you need without trying to hold on. Move like the trees in the wind and embrace everything, good or bad that comes your way. Make choices you like. Be thankful every day, in all ways and in all feelings. Strive to be a better person every day, be kind, and always choose love. That is all anyone should be chasing. <3

I Used to Think

              I used to think that to be an artist, you had to be sad, or tormented, or crazy. Or maybe that it was the sad, tormented, and crazy that became artists. Isn’t that what we’re taught? Hemingway was a depressive alcoholic. Van Gogh was tormented or insane, or both. Even Lewis Carroll and the Beatles were on drugs. It was an artist’s fate, and it was my fuel. Writing for me has always been an insatiable need, a drive, integral to my very breath. Writers block, or lack of inspiration, stung like a careless word on a secret insecurity. It nagged at my fingertips, and made my teeth itch. I needed fuel for the fire, and where did I go? My sadness. My depression. My tormented mind. That part of myself on the edge of losing my mind. My darkness. I dug it all out, tore off scabs, dug up mistakes I’d buried in the dark recesses of past repentance. And there was the flame, and the fury, and the tears, and there were poems, and deep thoughts, and odd paintings, and freakish obsessions, and these were comfortable. These fit in with the world, with society. These made me down to earth, approachable, the kind of person I always liked. These tore me away from my Creator.

I watched an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine recently with some kid friends. In it, they encounter a non-linear species, one that does not live from moment to moment but in all moments simultaneously. In an attempt to communicate, they kept bringing the captain back to the day his wife died. The captain tried to explain that this was the past, that it was over, that they were linear, and this was no longer happening. “Then why,” the entity asked, “do you still live here?” That question sent shivers through my bones. Every memory, every mistake, every lost friendship and missed opportunity… I lived in those. Those were my home, food, fodder for the starving artist.

I used to be afraid of changing too much. Of letting G-d become my everything. Of filling my moments with prayer and praise. I was afraid to let Him heal the broken parts of my spirit, because I thought that when I lost my pain, I’d lose my poetry. I was afraid that the one thing I loved most in this world would be stripped away from me and yes, I would have G-d, but I would no longer be me. No longer be down to earth and approachable. No more torment, no more accelerant for my fire. So I had a limit, a wall, a measuring stick on how much I would let Him in, let Him change me, and I was stuck there. Was.

My main man and me, all packed
              for the move to College Station.

Last weekend was Yom Kippur, the biblical holy day of repentance, of giving all your sins, all your past, all your doubts to G-d and becoming clean, white as snow, a new creation. I wanted that clean slate, I wanted to be of one mind with my Heavenly Father. I thought that one could repent and mean it but still be a little dark. Want to know something? You can’t be. You will never be wholly G-d’s. You will never be of one mind. G-d is light and light cannot exist without expelling darkness. I had to let go. I had to take my sins and give them to G-d, and this time I could not take them back. I could not reintegrate them into my synapses for my poetry. If I give them to G-d, they’re gone. No longer mine. I told G-d that I was afraid. Of losing myself. Of losing the gift He gave me. You know what He told me? He reminded me that He indeed was the one who gave me my gifts. They are not something I acquired because of my pain or darkness. Not something I gave myself. These gifts are just that, gifts. My gifts were given to be used by the best version of myself I could possibly be. The version that can be whole hearted with my G-d. I would not lose it. In fact, I would gain so much more, by being the person my poetry was meant to be written by. He was right, and I finally let Him in.

So here I am. A much different person than I was a week ago. My past is my past but it can no longer control me. I refused to let it own me, and now its power is lost. I am a new creation, full of light, and the desires of past have faded. And I’m still writing poetry.

I Feel Like A Forest Princess

     I am overwhelmed right now. And for the first time in a while, not the bad kind. This week has felt like forever, and I'm actually glad about it. It's amazing how even when it feels like I'm walking in the valley of problems, money, finals, life, God finds a way to show me that the valley isn't a pit. It's a forest, and it may be dark now but the sun does rise. A couple of years ago, I got a fortune cookie from a Panda Express in Colorado. My 'fortune' read: "You are surrounded by silent love and friendship all around you." I've kept it ever since to remind me, but suddenly I realize I don't need a piece of paper to remind me. I have people to do that now.

     First off, I was informed late last month that I'd been chosen for the Promises to Keep Scholarship from TJC, where I go to school. Only recently did I realize how that happened. In order for a student to even be considered, they must be recommended. Basically, a TJC staff member must state what's so great about said student and why they deserve the scholarship. I laid in bed that night filled with an immense cloud of love. Someone that I interact with, decided to tell the school that I was awesome and should get money for school. I can't thank that faculty member enough. She made this winter a little warmer. (Though honestly, it's Texas, so it's not that cold to begin with. But you get the idea.)

     These last few days I have come into contact with people I've never met before, only to be blessed by their capacity to love me (or at least like me) right then and there. Today was my first day at my new job, coincidentally the same place where I got my life changing fortune cookie. It was hard to begin with, stressful, the things new jobs are, but with the patience of my boss and coworkers, I got the hang of it. To top that off, I returned home to find flowers and a note from my sweet roommate and friend, and surprise Hanukkah socks from another wonderful person. I feel so incredibly warm inside. Also, it's raining which makes everything tenfold awesomer. (That's a word, right?)

     With each blow that bring me down, a hug is there to bring me up. With each word spoken in anger, a whole book is spoken in love. With each sad day is a raindrop and a flower to make it all okay. I forget that the stressful times can't make life pointless. But the people in life, can definitely make it worth living. I don't know what I did to deserve them.

I'll Keep You Safe

    The past two months have been incredibly trying for me. For the first time in my life I've been having panic attacks and anxiety. It's sudden and random and seemingly out of the blue. I've had to lean on people more than usual, and that can be hard for me. So on top of the anxiety and fear, I've had to deal with my own personal poor me attitude that I seem to have when I'm having to accept people's kindness. I don't want to be a burden. What if they're just doing this because they're nice? What if they don't really want me here? These are thought holes, patterns I have to break in myself. I don't know if God is using this time in my life to show me that people do care about me, and that as much as I try not to, I do need people. My Rabbi gave a teaching the other day that struck me. He said that he boasted before God and was humbled drastically. I realize now that I've spent my life boasting about how fearless I am, and how nothing can phase me, and that I don't need people because I'm fine on my own. Everything I've built my being on for the past few years is gone now. I'm afraid and anxious and have needed people every step of the way. Talk about humbling. Though this has all been incredibly hard, and I've felt almost abandoned by God at times, I've never loved humanity more. People care. It doesn't always seem that way, but they do. The challenge is letting yourself be vulnerable enough to open up and admit you're struggling. If anything, these troubles have showed me just how prideful I can be. But it's also showed me how loved I really am. By my friends, and also by God. 

    People say that God works in mysterious ways. And I think that's true, a lot of the time. But I also think a lot of the time He works in obvious ways. Or at least obvious to Him. I think God has probably figured out by now that I don't understand His subtlety. I feel Him more than I hear Him and I look for Him in everything, because I know that if I don't, I'll miss something. And I know I have. But lately I haven't missed it all, because he's used my deepest insecurities, and who can ignore that? I realized a while back that I love fortune cookies. They're like little surprises, even though I know the 'fortunes' are bogus. What I also realized though, is that those fortunes could definitely be used to speak to me, so every time I open one I tell God that here's a chance to tell me something that I'll actually get, in case He wants to use it. And He usually does. In one of my previous posts I mentioned one about acorns growing into trees. That was one of those fortunes. The other day I was at a restaurant with some of my favorite people. But as I mentioned before, I'm an insecure human being and and have a hard time believing people actually love me. My friends, knowing how much I like fortune cookies, brought a whole handful to the table. I ended up with multiple cookies. As usual, I told God that I was listening if He wanted to use the cookie to tell me something, I was listening. The first two cookies were rubbish and made no sense. I was sorely disappointed as I really needed to hear Him that day. I took a deep breath and opened the final cookie. 

    "You are guided by silent love and friendship all around you." 

    I cried. It was exactly what this poor, insecure me needed. God came through and showed me His love. I keep that little slip of paper in my clear phone case so I can just turn my phone over and read it whenever I'm feeling lonely or hopeless. It helps to be reminded that even though sometimes love is silent, that doesn't mean it isn't all around. 

    Another way God speaks to me, is through music. I'm a big music lover and you'll rarely see me without music of some sort. A couple of days ago, a friend of mine posted a song on my Facebook and told me that my name popped into her mind while she listened to it. The song was 'I'll Keep You Safe' by Sleeping At Last. I cried while I listened to it. I've been a bit of cryer lately. The song was everything I needed. It was like a letter from God written just for me. In it He told me that He would keep me safe, that I don't have to be afraid. He said that the darkness would pass, that mistakes are made and that it's okay. He told me that I'm not a failure, that I'm an artist and my heart is a masterpiece. I'd recommend everyone go listen to that song right now. God used my friend to show me His love. Without people in my life, I wouldn't have received either of these encouragements. God comes through. Sometimes it takes more than one cookie, or more time than you wanted to wait, but it happens. It just takes a lot of patience and a little faith. 

    I'm not back to normal yet. I still have trouble sleeping, and the dark makes me nervous. Everything I thought I knew about myself has been challenged and that isn't easy for me to deal with. I have a long way to go before I'm comfortable alone again, but I know that I know that I know that God is going to hold my hand through every night, and every fear, and that I am loved and will have people to help me along the way. 

Because Everyone Could Use A Story About A Duck

    I remembered this essay I wrote a few years ago and thought I would share it. Enjoy. 

    They say that a dog is a man's best friend, and when mine unexpectedly left me for the great unknowns of the after-life, I was left without one. Loneliness enveloped my heart. I found myself looking for a new friend to claim that aching spot. I researched long and hard, and after my living situation turned down my hopes of raising a hedgehog, I stumbled upon something I had not imagined. If you were to ask me how I arrived at the conclusion that a duck, of all creatures would do the trick, I could not tell you, but sometimes it's the unexpected that brings happiness to a broken heart.

     Piper was a Peking duckling with fluffy yellow down, a pink bill, and feet webbed in between the toes with warm, paper-thin skin. He was a mostly docile little thing with a flair for the dramatic. It was either that or he just hated being alone. I had read on the internet that ducks were social creatures that are able to bond with humans, as long as contact with others of their kind was limited. Based upon that knowledge I tried my best to keep him away from the other ducklings I had acquired at the same time. Piper slept in a big box at the foot of my bed, and when I say he slept, I mean it in the loosest way possible. I would make sure his box was clean and ready for the night and then would gently set him down and walk away, my heart breaking as his shrill cries followed me down the hall. Piper was what you could call a social butterfly. If he wasn't cuddled up under someones neck, or stuffed head first in the crook of someones arm, he would squeak and try to put himself in one of those two spots. If I was unable to walk and balance his ever growing body on my arm, he was content to sleep in my purse while I shopped or did my chores. Piper and I were virtually inseparable. We both wanted it that way.

     It was soon after Piper arrived that I got my first job. This posed problems for quality time spent with my little duckling and my dreams of taking him for walks and training him to wear a diaper. I didn't give up though and soon designed a small stretchy diaper made out an old sock for him to wear. It worked for short periods of time where I could run about the house with him following close behind, his syndactilous feet slapping the ground like a fish out of water, his undersized wings flapping, and his 'wait for me' screams bringing the dogs from every corner of the house to see what all the raucous was about. It was during this period of waiting for him to get big enough for an official, professionally made diaper that I discovered something. While ducklings are cute, they will not hesitate to give you a run for your sanity. I would allow the fuzzy little bird to roam my bedroom freely, as long as he stayed mostly on the towel I spread out for him, but having a brain the size of peanut, Piper eliminated wherever he pleased. It became a regular thing for me to be consistently wiping up liquid excrement and constantly doing laundry, in response to the fact that Piper preferred to spend the majority of his time in my lap, or at least touching me in some formor fashion. Sometimes, when given free reign of the bedroom, he would bolt across the room with a waddling dash and send his food dish careening in the opposite direction, leaving me to fetch a vacuum, in hopes of removing every last pellet from from my floor.

     While Piper may have driven me crazy sometimes, just like any other pet would, we had really memorable times as well, like taking him to the grocery store and hoping he would stay quiet so we didn't get into trouble, lying on the couch and watching a movie with him snuggled up nice and close to my face, and having him sample my fingers and me kissing his bill. Bath time was always the favorite. I would fill up the tub with lukewarm water and watch as he paddled his little feet. He made me laugh when he would swiftly propel himself under the water like a frog, splashing water all over me and the floor, zooming around and around, with his eyes open, until he ran out of air and resurfaced.

    Piper grew and soon shed his soft down for grown up feathers, white as pearls, and almost as shiny. His neb and totipalmate feet matured into a lovely shade of orange. We were happy, but life soon got busy and when Piper was being left alone for the majority of the day, my heart began to hurt for his misfortune. I then did what I thought was best for my little billed darling. I reunited him with his long lost duckling friends, in the land of the grass and wind. Piper was happy with the companionship of his kind. When Piper was happy, so was I. A few weeks later, when I returned home from work, I was met with news that cut my soul out, and chopped it into a million pieces. Piper was gone. Like my previous animal companion, Piper had unwillingly abandoned me for the unknown world of death. A fox had stole in during the night and ripped my love away from me.

    My heart still aches for that flightless little bird. Every so often I peruse the pictures that are left from our life together. I can still feel his warm mouth nibbling at my eyelashes, and his fleecy down when I would bury my face in his warmth. I can still see his little black eyes staring at me like he understood my feelings. I can still hear his breath, his squeals, and the quack he gained as he grew. I still laugh at the memories of the times we would play dress up, and he would end up wearing a dress. They say a dog is a man's best friend, but I am not so sure; because sometimes, it's the unexpectedthat brings happiness to a broken heart. 

The Snake in the Room

     My snake died. Little baby Bird, who I kind of hated. It was as if guilt had tainted my adoration for him. The adoration I had imagined I'd have for him before I even had him. Every time I'd see that huge terrarium my stomach would tighten and that feeling would take over. But I couldn't get rid of him, right? I'd spent so long convincing my dad to let me, and doing research, and talking about it, I couldn't just get rid of him. I'd have to stick it out. All 30 years of the expected life-span of a ball python. Lucky for me, I didn't even have to deal with him for 30 days. It's not that I think snakes are bad pets or that I was incapable of caring for him. It was something else. It was that small whisper of doubt before the purchase. Maybe I shouldn't do this. But I couldn't think of reason why I shouldn't so I ignored it. I'll be happier with a snake. And cool. Snakes are cool. They are, but I wasn't happier. I was sick in my gut. But I had already bought the snake's stuff and the snake itself, and it was too late. But then he stopped eating, and I was worried. I had expected when I'd gotten him that I'd hold him all the time and train him to ride on my shoulders, but I hardly touched him. He hid under the rock in his tank and I rarely even looked in on him. He felt like a stranger, like some alien thing that I couldn't bear to touch but I knew I needed to so he'd get used to me. The other day I called my friend and asked her if she wanted the snake. I couldn't do it. While on the phone with her I went to get him out of the cage and when I lifted the rock up, Bird didn't move. I poked him. He still didn't move. Bird was dead. At first I was upset and angry because, as everyone knows, all my pets die. Then I felt bad because I was relieved. I wouldn't have to deal with the snake for 30 years. 

     I have to interject here and tell you that no dead anything smells as bad as a dead snake. Trust me, I've smelled a lot of dead things, and this was the worst. I could hardly breathe. The room was humid from the heat lamps and humidifier and the stench settled in the air heavy and suffocating. I had to get it out. I took a box in one hand, picked up his carcass with the other. His scales were sharp and loose and entirely wrong. His belly was blue from the blood. But that wasn't even the worst part. His jaws were clamped around his own body. My snake had tried to eat himself. The whole image is burned in my brain, and I get sick just thinking about it. In fact, that image pops into my head quite often. It's haunting.

     When the dead snake and his terrarium were no longer in my house, the window was open, and purifying oils were diffusing, I sat on my floor confused, and somewhat lost. This whole month has been a weird almost terrifying one. My mind has been muddled and unsure, and afraid. I've been regretful and somewhat hopeless. I've been dark and struggling. But I also felt that something was happening. Something I couldn't explain, and didn't understand. I just felt like something was going to happen, was happening. To me? I didn't know. So I sat there listening to a song and trying to understand, when it happened. That snake was a representation. He was my darkness, my sin, the evil human nature and it's desires. And it was gone. And it was gone from me too. My whole life I have longed to want to be light. To be clean and new. I used to say the salvation prayer at church youth gatherings just to feel that rebirth that everyone talks about. I wanted that fervor and that reassurance. But it never happened. I never felt any different. I attributed it to the fact that I had already said that prayer when I was little and that it only worked once. That I had already been reborn and couldn't be re-reborn. I was really bummed. I'd never understand. Never feel that because I didn't have some great turning to God story. But sitting on the floor in my bedroom confused and lost, I felt Him. I felt God in a way I never had before. I didn't say any sort of saving prayer. I said, why. What are you trying to tell me? I didn't hear a voice. I didn't hear an answer. I felt forgiveness. God didn't mean for me to buy that snake. He didn't want me to for some reason I can't explain. But I did. And it died, and I found God. I found that rebirth. My whole body and soul become clean and light and I felt forgiven. I felt free of that darkness I'd held on to. Suddenly, I didn't feel that draw anymore. I wanted nothing to do with it. I just wanted light and I wanted to be light. I wanted to love everyone, and be loved in return. I hadn't felt that way in a long time. In all my life, actually. And it didn't come at a religious gathering. It didn't happen with a salvation prayer. I became new. I found life, on the floor in my bedroom when I was lost.

     

     In life, we decide we want things. Like a snake. Or we're drawn to something dark and wrong. And maybe we rationalize it, and make it feel okay even though there's that little voice saying maybe not. But we give in. We get the pet, we let ourselves have a little darkness, and we think it'll make us happy. But then it sits in our home, in our room, near our bed, and we have to see it every day, and suddenly we think maybe we don't want it anymore but that it's too late and we'll just have to learn to live with it. And maybe we boast about it because we'll seem cooler that way. Shock value. But we know. Deep down where we don't want to admit it. I can't live with this. But the thing is, we don't have to. Once we're willing, once we're ready to be rid of that sin, that darkness, all we have to do is ask. All we have to do is want to be light, free. God looks into our inmost being and sees. I've wanted for a long time to get rid of that darkness but at the same time, I wanted it too much. But this month, I've realized that what I really want is to hear God. To feel His love, to get His direction. Even though I didn't realize it, He'd been working on me, on my heart. I've reached absolute depression and found the cure. That snake killed itself. And I killed my darkness. The guilt is gone. The darkness in the corner of my bedroom is gone. I'm new. I'm light. And light is all I want. I'm clean, and I thank God with every ounce of my being.

Simply Human

      I find myself occasionally touched by the humanity of...well, of humans. That all of us can be touched by the same story, the same circumstance, regardless of social status, age, or race. Our very humanity reaches out to one another, a solidarity in knowing that we share a common feeling or belief. A common emotion.

     Today I saw The Book Thief at the local cinema. It is a heart-wrenching story about a young girl in the middle of World War 2 and the losses she overcomes, the humanity she manages to keep in a world that seems void of it. It has its sad moments of course, expected in a film about a world at war; but it isn't until the end that we find our feelings billowing up our throats to burst out our eyes. The very end climaxes into grief and then relief, when all the built up sadness can take it no more. It was then that I was struck by what everyone in that crowded theater shared. As I held back the tears tearing at my throat, and I wiped an escaped tear with my sleeve, I heard a quiet sob coming from somewhere across the room. I then noticed various sniffles dotted about and even more quiet sobs. Here we were, strangers, coming from different walks of life, male, female, old, young, single, married, black, white, gay, and straight, and yet we were one, united in a common emotion. All touched. All equal. All human. Here we were, watching a movie about the Second World War, the very war that went against all beliefs of equality, led by a man who believed in one master race that was worth more than all others, one people with one belief, one walk of life. And here we were, all different, all equal, all crying in our own way, watching the Americans finally occupy Germany, winning the war, while we too, in our own unity, won. We won that war, in more ways than one. Every day, we show this world, we show each other, that no matter what differences we have, we still have one thing in common, one thing to bring us together. We are all, simply human. So what is there to hate?