Contemplating Happiness

I took the boys and met Andrea at the park for a picnic today. Of course, she had her two kids plus the three that she watches on Thursdays and Fridays. She'd also invited one of her daughter's friends, and this friend's mother came along and brought yet another kid. Oh, and we ran into Michelle when we got there, which was nice, since I haven't had a chance to talk with her in ages, but with her came three more kids. It was quite the zoo. I'd been really looking forward to seeing Andrea. I'd dared to hope that we would feed the kids, and they would run off and play and leave us to a peaceful chat. Hah! (I'm such a dreamer sometimes.) The only real conversation we got was after we'd gotten the kids back in our respective cars. We stood on the sidewalk between the cars, looking back and forth to make sure no one was escaping, and filled each other in on things we didn't want little ears listening in on. That's it. Five minutes. Seven, tops. But it was worth it.

Someday soon I really want to get together, just the two of us, and go out for coffee or something. But then there's the matter of the five kids between us. Could Kaitlyn handle them all? I bet she could. Hm ... But then, I use her so much because I have to. I hate to take advantage of her. Well, maybe I could pay her, sweeten the deal a little bit! It would be worth it to have an uninterrupted chat with my friend.

Mark asked me, awhile back, why I go out in the garage to talk on the phone. Well, quite frankly, it's for the same reason that I sometimes go into the bathroom to read. Privacy! I try to remember, when it seems like someone is always pulling on my shirttails, always needing something from me, that these days will not last, that someday I may even wish for them back, challenging as they are.

That's one thing I love about two of my newer hobbies: photography and writing haiku. Both require that you be truly present, in this moment. I have had a habit all my life of creating alternate worlds where I could shape things the way I want them to be -- or at least give my characters more power, more oomph that I feel like I possess in real life. And I'm certain I'll never give up that world. Creating stories is such a part of who I am. But I'm also learning to look for and recognize the beauty in the here and now -- in the first blossoms on my strawberry plants, in Casey's belly laugh on the swing, in Andrea's hug ... I could be as rich as Oprah and still not be able to come close to duplicating the beauty of those simple things.

I've been wondering about the source of happiness a lot lately. What makes some people happier than others? I've been told all my life that it's "knowing Jesus." Well, yes, that should make a person happy, if he/she truly believes it, but I've known an awful lot of unhappy believers. And wealth is definitely not the trick. Or power. Or entertainment. Sure, these things can make life easier, but do they make a person happier? In the long run, no. Anybody who follows the news knows that it's not so. Then what is it? What is it that makes a person happy? I think it's two things, really.

First, I think it's being able to see beyond oneself, to see the bigger picture, to realize one's own insignificance. True, that can be depressing, but it can also be freeing. If I am the canvas, I feel the pressure to be perfect. But if I am just an string, I am free to be limp in the Master's hand, free to add my tiny bit of color to the picture ... and depart. Nothing more is asked of me.

Secondly, I think happiness has to do with living our lives with our eyes wide open. That's one thing I love about having children. You tell an adult, "Hey, look! A cherry tree!" And he or she is likely to mumble, "Hmph," or something equally inspiring. (Or as an adult once said as we passed beneath a gloriously golden tree in autumn, "What a mess those leaves are going to be to clean up!") But if I point the same thing out to Brendan, he is awestruck. He is enthralled with the colors of the changing seasons. He has been equally enthralled at times with the ants on our sidewalk. I think my neighbors must think I'm out of my mind to sit out there with my son, feeding cracker crumbs to the ants. We can just sit there for the longest time, watching them work and wondering at their mystery. Honestly? Those of are some of my favorite times. And there's really nothing to them, nothing tangible at least, nothing that can be pinned down for later display. They are elusive. They are transient. And they are absolutely priceless.