When other people talk about their quests for happiness, it always sounds so easy. Search and you shall find. The skies parted and God talked to me. There was a fork on the road, and I took it. Sure. Well, it’s not always that way. In some ways, last year I was at a place where I had found happiness. I had to do some digging to find the source of my unhappiness. What was it? Suburban life? Would I be happier on 40 acres and having some mules? I hear you have to wake up early to feed the mules, so scrap that. I am also not that big on manual labor. Oh, and I am allergic to mosquitoes. And I freckle. Easily. So there, as good as the farm sounds (and I do love the farming idea), I shall remain a visitor. Albeit, a daily visitor, because our horse is boarded at a farm nearby. A farm where somebody else wakes up early to feed him. Bless her heart.
It was hard to give up the farm idea, but it was just so unpractical. Then I started to think about crafting. I had some success designing scrapbook pages. Some had been picked up for magazines, I had done some freelance work. Maybe I could be a full time scrapbook designer. Yikes, that sounds like a lot of work for little money. Maybe I could quilt. I spent hours on the Internet looking for quilting information. Did I mention I don’t sew? Maybe I could cook. Cakes, perhaps? Oh, no, I have no experience making cakes, but I am a decent baker. How hard could it be?
One day I was driving home and started to think (I always do my best thinking while driving) about what being happy really meant to me. If I wanted to describe a perfectly happy moment, what would that be? The happiest time that came to mind was the aftermath of an ice storm that we had 4 years ago. I know. Crazy. Power was knocked out. We had no heat, no phone, nothing. And a big branch crashed on our roof and almost landed on top of our bed. Yet, I was so blissfully happy. We cooked (we do have a gas stove and gas water heater). We ate. We played games, we sat around. I took lots of pictures. We all slept on the floor in the living room with the dogs and the cat, trying to stay warm. It was fun. It was fun to be home and do domestic things. It was fun to be together without anyone running away to check their e-mail. Hmmm. Maybe that was just a fluke. Certainly there must have had a happier moment. When the kids were born? Nope, too stressful. Our honeymoon? It was great, but I missed
Could this really mean that I was happiest when trapped at home? And, if so, what was next? What did this finding mean? I had no earthly idea.
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