I think I'm happy. I think this is what happiness looks like. This one grandfather, whose son is joining our Boy Scout troop, with whom I spent more than one Cub Scout hike, this grandfather told me he passed me on the street a little while back. I was waiting for the bus, he said, and I looked so happy there with my little backpack and everything. I'm sure he means my Bratz pack.
And I realized, he's right: I'm happy. There are a lot of things little and big I'll complain about, but there are a lot of really great moments: Afternoon delight with Dawn as a spring breeze comes through the window; seeing William as happy as I've ever seen him taking his bow as half of the stage crew for his school's production of Annie; knowing that Corinne went to a school dance and told me she danced, which she can do because of seven years of dance lessons. The scent of honeysuckle and the Empire State Building through the rain; a nap at 3 o'clock and a painting done by noon.
Yeah, it's pretty okay. Why? I don't know why. It just is.
As to whether women in general are more or less happy than they used to be: Who can say? How could one say, if one could? What a dumb thing to even think of asking, if women are more happy than they were last year, or ten years ago, or whatever. Which women? How long ago? Happy about what? The whole concept is absurd on its face!
Sleep deprived today, so I shouldn't be commenting, but I will point to film characters, as I often do when thinking about these things.
I am thinking of the end of The Heidi Chronicles, and the speech where the protagonist talks about how feminism was supposed to help women support each other, not become more competitive with each other.
Then I thought about the housewife than Sandra Bullock plays in the film "Crash"... I have met so many women who seem to be as terminally unhappy as that character, and in much the same way.
I'm generally happy, bobbing up and down in mood but always re-setting to a baseline of enjoying & savoring things. When I feel especially horrible I think of my friends and people I love and how awesome they are.
I am not just happy, I'm FREAKING happy. I am happy for "room of her own" reasons that are long overdue and that I fought for and I am very glad I did.
Darlings, where to start? Sometimes I feel as though I have lived a thousand lives in this one, dewy and unlined though my complexion may be. To Tell All may be to intimidate; thus I maintain, at most times, a discreet reserve. But here I share my musings, perhaps revealing the secret to my exquisite poise and charm.
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I think I'm happy. I think this is what happiness looks like. This one grandfather, whose son is joining our Boy Scout troop, with whom I spent more than one Cub Scout hike, this grandfather told me he passed me on the street a little while back. I was waiting for the bus, he said, and I looked so happy there with my little backpack and everything. I'm sure he means my Bratz pack.
And I realized, he's right: I'm happy. There are a lot of things little and big I'll complain about, but there are a lot of really great moments: Afternoon delight with Dawn as a spring breeze comes through the window; seeing William as happy as I've ever seen him taking his bow as half of the stage crew for his school's production of Annie; knowing that Corinne went to a school dance and told me she danced, which she can do because of seven years of dance lessons. The scent of honeysuckle and the Empire State Building through the rain; a nap at 3 o'clock and a painting done by noon.
Yeah, it's pretty okay. Why? I don't know why. It just is.
As to whether women in general are more or less happy than they used to be: Who can say? How could one say, if one could? What a dumb thing to even think of asking, if women are more happy than they were last year, or ten years ago, or whatever. Which women? How long ago? Happy about what? The whole concept is absurd on its face!
Sleep deprived today, so I shouldn't be commenting, but I will point to film characters, as I often do when thinking about these things.
I am thinking of the end of The Heidi Chronicles, and the speech where the protagonist talks about how feminism was supposed to help women support each other, not become more competitive with each other.
Then I thought about the housewife than Sandra Bullock plays in the film "Crash"... I have met so many women who seem to be as terminally unhappy as that character, and in much the same way.
Oops, baby crying..... gotta go!
I'm generally happy, bobbing up and down in mood but always re-setting to a baseline of enjoying & savoring things. When I feel especially horrible I think of my friends and people I love and how awesome they are.
I am not just happy, I'm FREAKING happy. I am happy for "room of her own" reasons that are long overdue and that I fought for and I am very glad I did.
In fact, I wrote a whole dang post about it :-D
Hooray, Spatch! This topic to be continued...
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