the Art of happy

I was reflecting this week that I am damn good at challenge. As a side note, I met a woman while paddling on Tuesday who told me that as a Capricorn, I have been gifted with a life that is not always easy. Apparently it goes with the astrological territory. She was happy to inform me though that my moon in Pisces makes me appear less mercurial on the outside than my Capricornian bones might dictate. Thank goodness for small miracles.

Memories of trees.

But anyway, back to my point. I may not have it mastered, but as a Capricornian fish-goat I am quite adept at processing, overcoming, and absorbing the hard stuff that life tosses in my path. I certainly don't do it alone, and maybe part of what makes me good at it is that I do sometimes ask for help. And I tend to come out of it all stronger, clearer, and more myself on the other side. Moreover, I do this with a certain messy and beautifully human grace that is all my own. I have depth and I don't suffer the shallows gladly.

I found myself wondering how I do with the not-so-difficult things. The downright gleeful and blindingly joyful experiences and events that also get thrown into my arena. Am I as good at those as I am at dealing with the impossible, painful and breathtakingly disappointing?

I cast my mind back to the last time I felt that something simply wonderful had landed in my lap. It was pretty splendid. And I doubted it and myself. I remember that. It was a big ticket item and my 'receive' valve seemed to be jammed. As the light would begin to shine in I would be overcome with fear in the form of 'what ifs' and attachment to outcome. There were moments in the beginning when I was filled with dread; a terror that I was just imagining it. It couldn't possibly be real or meant for me. Even though it was obviously, and exactly that.

The good news is that I am aware that I have a tendency this way, and I am able to let go of some of this stuff as it arises. I see it for the fear-based morass that it is, at least in moments. I understand that it is rooted in a non-present mind that is yelling at me about the possibility of deep disappointment down the road, or the (terrifying) possibility that I am simply delusional and have an untrustworthy intuitive sense. However of late I am tempted to do better than that. There have been a couple of great (though less big ticket) things that have come up for me recently. Maybe these, and the next delectable item that is passed in my direction are good training for practicing the art of happy.

I am hard wired to continue to rise to life's challenges. But I will also aspire to have the same grace in the face of the stunningly wonderful as I do in the midst of catastrophic shit-storms. That is my assignment.

Straight Lines

I notice that I am using words borrowed from friends in these posts sometimes. The title here comes from a conversation that I had with my friend Julie, who has talked and listened me through some rough patches in the past months. She's a good 'un and reminded me one day that healing is not a straight line. Although it happens sometimes, we rarely wake up 'all better' never to fall back into the abyss again.

Most often I find that things move in waves, sometimes better and more clear, sometimes not. I have moments and occasionally days of epiphany and clarity. Then on the nth day I find myself 'regressed' again, turning over the same stone as before, perhaps seeing another aspect of it, or maybe just seeing the same aspect with different eyes. I get fed up with myself then. The ego pulls up to the curb and smacks me around a bit and asks me what the hell I am doing here, back on this beach, with this endless supply of sea-worn stones. Wasting my time. Get over it, she says, move on, find a new stone or two. Better, go to a new beach. She never reminds me that I have already done that, already moved on, or that coming back here sometimes is ok, not the end of the world, and is part of the process. I take a step or two forward, maybe a step or three back, but the result is something new. The ego is not gentle or truthful. And we are not built for straight lines.

I actually found myself saying to someone the other day that I am happy. It just came out, very calmly and without fanfare or analysis. I have built, am building a good life. I felt it to be true in that moment, and the sense of it has remained with me. It is a quiet voice, and it is made of simple stuff. It is not wild and collaborative and perfect. It is a calm intensity (to borrow someone else's words), imperfect, purposeful and kind.