One Hundred Happy Days- Day Four

Walking on the Winter Beach

Yesterday I walked along Far Rockawy Beach before work. I was searching for peace and a quiet place to think. During this time of year there barely any people walking on the beach. Those that I happened to see here, were lost in thoughts of their own or hypnotized by the view. 

The ocean was a dark, turbulent wash of gray and green. Waves clung to the edges of the shore, blanketing in foaming blankets of white. The sky above was the color of steel. Everything was quiet. Silence settled upon me. It was the kind that made everything become still; the kind that eased the worries of the heart, lifting it then letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean's impenetrable depths. The kind that also allowed those worries to float away into the horizon. The silence resembled a kind of hope. We push our wishes into the unknown, praying that whatever comes brings us joy and blessings. We take those hopes and let them go, allowing them to sink or float. 

I watched the water and thought of my father. I remembered his silhouette by the shore at Coney Island as my little sister and I collected shells to paint. I asked his memory, "are there oceans where you are? Do you swim?" Looking at a piece of sea foam shatter in the air, I thought, "do you fly?" I let the silence cover me. I let my hopes float along the horizon and my tears fall until they became too cold to permit and I wiped them away. I watched the sea. A lone surfer braved the waves, his bright blue board a bright contrast to the mute day. 

I walked along the empty Boardwalk and felt lifted. Seagulls rose in the air above me, gliding and swooping with the currents of the wind. A flock of pigeons joined their flight, weaving past the seagulls.  Wings filled the sky.  My heart soared with them. I felt weightless. I felt lifted. I felt happy. 

Day 2 and 3 of One Hundred Happy Days

Tea and Marsha 

When life gets a little too hectic for me I tend to resort to my usual comforts. A good book. A cozy bed. Music. Or in many instances, tea. Tea for me is a source of calm and happiness. It allows me to slow down for a moment and just enjoy the simple pleasure of drinking my favorite beverage. It's not a get up and go drink. It's a sit down and relax drink. It's a clear your mind drink. I love it. 

I remember as a kid, drinking tea in the morning. The routine was pretty consistent, no matter what I had for breakfast. It brings back memories of the way my father used to make my tea (milk and sugar, not too hot, not too cold). It brings back memories of my mom and sisters and brother. The smell of plantains frying and eggs scrambling. Dumplings with syrup and the promise of Saturday morning cartoons. It reminds me of a time in my life when I didn't have to worry about anything other than my homework. So it's only natural that I choose tea for day two of my 100 happy days challenge. 

Sunday, a good friend of mine celebrated her 29th birthday and I was lucky enough to share in the experience with her. Marsha and I have known each other since high school and ever since then we have remained good friends. Even when we were focused on separate paths in our lives, when we met up it felt as if nothing had changed. I truly believe that is what friendship is about. It's about being at such a level of comfort with someone that no matter how infrequently you may talk to each other or how far you live from one another, when you get together, you pick up where you left off. I'm truly blessed to have this wonderful woman as a friend. We celebrated her birthday with a lovely brunch followed by karaoke. I painted her a picture of the Eiffel Tower. I love this girl! 

One Hundred Days of Happiness

I want to be happy. That is the biggest desire in my life, to reach a place where in my existence where I can live In happiness. It feels like a hard goal to reach. So many things threaten to break my smile or darken my days. So many things leave me stressed and agitated and worried. At times it feels like I don't have the space in my world to be happy. Life takes over and the chaos can making living from day to day less about joy and more about survival. But even as I succumb to the routine of waking up, going to work and going to sleep, the thought of happiness still lingers in my mind. I subconsciously search for it, taking little moments of pleasure and trying to make it last for as long as it can. 

Recently, while searching the web I came across the hashtag #100happydays and I wanted to know the meaning behind it. I googled it and a website came up, 100happydays.com which explained that this was a personal challenge. This isn't a contest or some way to show off. It's you, showing gratitude for the things that bring you joy in your life and acknowledging that for 100 days. You do this by sharing a picture each day of something you are happy for. This challenge is supposed to help us find it easier to see the positives in our everyday stressful and chaotic lives. It's about making a conscious effort to find happiness and becoming aware of it. Even though I'm doing this on Instagram (search loloroxxx) I've decided to go into detail about my image choices on my blog and the reason it makes me happy. 

Day one: a note. 

First off I want to say that my older siblings have some amazing children. They are smart and sweet and beautiful and caring and I love them dearly. I don't see them nearly enough. This note was written when I went to visit my sister in Pennsylvania. My trips to PA are always a source of joy for me. I love seeing my nieces and nephew as they go through various stages in their lives, transforming from short, crawling cherubs that are quick to smile and hug me, to tall gorgeous individuals with interests and personalities unique to them. My sister's oldest child, a young girl who shares my love of books and writing wrote this for me because I wrote her an encouraging note. I wanted her to know that I believe in her and that I want her to never stop being herself. 

She handed the letter to me before I left and I hugged her and read it on the way back home and felt a warmth in my heart. Months passed by and I forgot about the note, replacing it instead with the thoughts of work. Then one day when cleaning out my bookcase I discovered in one of my favorite books (The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon) my niece's kind words. Her words were so simple. She had a great time with me and wanted me to come back soon. Already she missed me. That is the first thing I thought of today, when musing about what makes me happy. A thoughtful note from a loved one can shine some light on such a dreary day. It could make a bad day much better. It could remind us that we matter in the world and that our existence is not overlooked. This is exactly what my niece's note did for me. It reminded me that I am loved and thought of. That's definitely sometching to be happy about.

 

Transcendental Meditation

I want to focus more on my well-being. Most days I feel like a carpet constantly being stepped on, my fringes faded and tattered. I feel like a shadow of myself. I've been getting angered much more easily lately. My patience has been wearing thin. Usually my patience is what I admire most about myself. My ability to deal with frustrating things in a calm manner made me proud. But now, I can barely deal with the bus arriving five minutes late without feeling so stressed and angry that I develop a headache.

I realize that I can't be happy when my emotions are so out of whack and my fuse is so short. I realize that I can't be a better person if I'm on the verge of snapping at someone who cuts in front of me on a line or if I glare at a person trying to make smalltalk with me. That's not who I am. So it felt like a sign when I opened the newspaper one day and read a short article about Transcendental Meditation. Apparently Jerry Seinfeld does it.

I was intrigued. 

It seems easy enough to do, dedicate twenty minutes of my time twice a day to sitting with my eyes closed. And it could help with my insomnia and stress.  I feel like it wouldn't hurt to try it. So I will. Perhaps it will help me find a clearer path to a happier, personal state. Perhaps it will help me reclaim my joy, my peace. At the least it will provide me with twenty minutes of quiet. I'd like that very much.

A Place in the World

I feel like I'm losing my place in the world. Which isn't saying much because my place is filled in very lightly. I step into my path with such trepidation I barely leave a footprint. Some call this cowardice. I call it caution. I want to be able to retreat softly, just incase the footprint is too big and something I will never be able to fill. I don't want to fail. And so trying just becomes another struggle.

I would love to feel like a pioneer. I'd love to push past the terror of the impending future and just do it. Do...something. Leave my mark, no matter the size. I'd love to look back on my place in the world when I am old and wrinkled and of no real use to anyone and say to my grandchildren who are filled with the energy of youth that I did something back then. They'd roll their eyes and nod and pretend to care but it wouldn't matter to me. I'd be able to look back at that point in my life when I didn't just settle for whatever rolled my way and I pushed forward, even though I was so scared my heart felt like it would burst.

But right now I'm off balance. One foot is right on the line that will lead me to...I don't know. But the other foot is holding back. Too afraid to step forward. Too fearful of the fall that may be waiting on the other side.

And yet...I feel like I want to fall. Somehow I'm hopeful that if I do, I'll find wings on my back, ready to help me soar. And maybe it's not that I'm losing my place in the world, but I'm shifting from one place to another, finding a spot that is unique to me. I don't know. I hope so.

Anyway. I've been painting a lot and thinking about images in my mind that I'd like to paint. There's cages and feathers and flight and falling and shattering in my vision. It feels much like what I'm going through, only in a different medium. There are words in my head that seek a page to be written on and I'll oblige it because I'm so damn tired of worrying about whether the words are good enough in the first place. It's a cycle that I need to break, this constant worrying and stalling and worrying some more. It's a dance that I don't enjoy, one that never keeps its rhythm, only hiccups and coughs and falters along the way. For a moment at least, I'd like to not give a damn about my worth and just do the things I enjoy, regardless of criticism.

I want to plant my feet in the path of my choice and watch as I bloom. Two feet on the line. Ready to fall or soar.

Dreaming Hours

There are certain times of the day that are meant for dreaming. Late at night is one of those times. That's when the world sleeps and your body is able to settle and your mind is allowed to drift. That's when all the thoughts that you are afraid to acknowledge at work or school or with friends comes drifting out and your finally able to decipher them.

Another time is right at daybreak, before noise pollutes the world and the air is still fresh and slightly chilled. This is when the sky is a ribbon of orange and blue and red and eyes are just beginning to open.

Those are my favorite times. It's when I feel most like myself. There's no one to speak to yet, no smiles to give or words to exchange or errands to run. Those times are simply for me. And I bask in the selfishness it provides me.  Maybe that's why I find it so hard to sleep. I'm waiting for that moment at night to finally cast off my shell and stretch and breathe. I don't want to miss it, so I forego sleep and pay the price in the morning as a groggily head to work.

Sometimes I wish things weren't so mundane. Sometimes I wish it wasn't always the monotonous rhythm of waking up, working, going home, sleeping and repeat. But There's stability in those actions that I crave because stability is safety in my eyes. Still, there are times I wonder what it would be like to get up every morning and experience something new. I new city, a new neighborhood, a new food. Something that wakes up the mind from the dull routine. Something that opens the eyes.

I often think of about what it would feel like to fall asleep in my home and wake up in a room situated in the Caribbean or the Greek Islands or something so unlike the things I'm used to. I would watch the sun rise and wake up this strange part of the world. I would eat foods that are nothing like the foods I eat at home. I would listen to the language and feel giddy from all the culture surrounding me.

I spend a lot of my dreaming hours thinking those thoughts about traveling and seeing the world. I think that's a sign that my mind and body craves something different, something that can only be found with a plane ticket and the name of a different country on it. But mainly I think about the things I would see, the images that will write itself into my mind. The stories I'd create.

And then I look at the time and realize that I need to get some sleep. And with my eyes closed I'd dream of things I barely remember in the morning.

Night.

Night holds me still, like a mother whose arms reach all they way to the sky, to the stars and beyond. Its lullaby is a cascade of silence, broken by the rippling of sheets or the rustle of branches. My thoughts are frantic, harried and loud from the chaos of the morning. They come to me in sparks, igniting and receding. Igniting and receding. But the night is a mother who has long since figured out the ways of her child, and she soothes me as my thoughts dim and I drift away....