“Happiness is a journey, not a destination.” The Buddha
You know, I wasn’t in a very good mood all day and I’m being kind. I always have some idea what I’m going to write about, lest you think a story springs forth from my head, fully intact, motor running. However, I wasn’t certain what would happen this time, when a shitty mood meets the happy page.
We are now finding out simultaneously. During the day, the one thing I was clear about is that I couldn’t write unless I was in a good mood. I have been at this word thing for a good number of years now. I have never, ever been inclined to sit down and bleed out my emotions or my thoughts, for that matter. When things are knocking around off kilter, the internal darkness makes it hard to see the blank page. Carrying it just a step further, writing feels like trying to shine a light, shrinking the shadows. Striving for clarity makes the ghosts disappear.
I decided on this title, which I will very often do at the beginning of my writing week, branding the blank page with an idea still taking shape. Of course, I couldn’t help myself, after being smacked at hypersonic, mind-speed by the direct connection between this title and the ultimate, consummate massage, so to speak. For the record, it is a cheap joke and I am better than that.
I know I have probably mentioned it too many times already, but a strong walking rhythm and the magic of ear pods have been life changing for me. I have always been one of the worst dancers imaginable. All I was ever any good at was shuffling to slow music, a zombie in heat, pressing myself into her body, praying to God the next dance wouldn’t make me look like an electrocuted, Jewish scarecrow.
The current weather in paradise has definitely begun its annual tango with perfect. My Kauai womb is returning to embrace me once again. There is something about it all that feels very inspiring to me. I know there is a story gestating in there, hatching in the warmth of an island about to bask in the light it radiates to the heavens.
I’ve been feeling it this week, that would be the title waiting on the story. A couple of afternoons ago, I was walking strong on my way home. If you have been listening to music for as long as I have, as much as I have, there have absolutely been countless moments when the music felt like it was written just for me, just then.
I’m feeling like Gene Kelly, Singing in the Rain. His was a true virtuoso performance, pairing the exact, right music with a syncopated fluidity of movement, blending seamlessly into a cinematic masterpiece. OK, I was fucken, walkin home and listening to Pandora. Whether dancing or walking, when you get it just right, you’re inhabited by the serenade.
One of coolest things about coming up with a title for my next story is that it kind of creates the mental, playing field for me, the world of the Word Ball Park. I was never a good athlete, so the sports metaphor kind of sucks, but it’s about the words, know what I’m sayin’?
Some of you may know that I am totally bat shit over music. I am certain there are no words imaginable to define my connection. We are inseparable and that’s not even good enough. I am left with very few memories of my father, who died when I was quite young. I know for certain he loved his music like I do. Every Sunday, he’d evaporate into the grey armchair, mesmerized by the live performances from the Metropolitan Opera.
So, I am walking up the goddamn hill Monday afternoon and my ears trumpet in my head a very familiar song by Pearl Jam, Just Breathe. The silence between sounds instantly evaporates into Tom Petty and Learning to Fly. Right then, I am thinking to myself, this is the perfect soundtrack to my walking full tilt into happiness. The tandem of the lyrics, each with their perfectly matched music, set me going directly into the story I’ve been thinking about, since the silly, double entendre title.
I think happiness is a rocket ride to the frontier of our feelings. I actually think it is a razor thin moment, a blinding light, almost too much, if there is such a thing. We visit it, like in a game of tag, when it only takes the slightest tap to capture it all. It has a divine quality about it.
These days, I can’t count those moments in my life. Believe me, I’m not complaining. No matter what’s to come, if I ever hear myself bitching about my life, there’ll be hell to pay.
Here’s the deal, you have to pay goddamn attention to your feelings, all of them. I am not even sure what the name is for doing this kind of thing, but everything has a name and books on how to achieve it. Personally, I prefer the idiot approach. I cherish my happy moments; if I dare to hold on too tightly, they vanish.
I think the life span of all our feelings are very, very short. They are meant to pass through us like a bolt of molten, emotional lightening, the good and the bad, one in the same. The title really ought to be Happy Beginnings. I don’t think feelings ever end. We inhale everything and they all live within us.
I know for certain writing to you makes me very happy. It is a kind of sharing, purposely intended to make you feel ever so slightly better off than when you first started reading. I can tell you each time I finish one of these, I have one of those moments of being completely at ease and whole.
Finding things that make you happy is life’s journey.