Today, I was riding my bike through the rain, miserably squinting my eyes so I could see. All I wanted was to get home. My thoughts were drowned out with not water, but music. Because you know what happens when you allow thoughts. For one year now, I have believed myself to be happy. I have and have had everything I ever needed. I consider myself extremely lucky and no detail about my life bothers me (anymore!). And yet, today, while in this empty moment full of horrible rain that should flush out any thought other than "get home quick", I asked myself for the first time in a year "am I unhappy?". I don't understand how it could take so long...
The answer is clear, I am not. I like waking up every day, I don't spend days in my bed not leaving my room much like some time when I lost everything I loved. Life is good to me. My journey through this life has been impeccable and exactly what I would always hope for a life although often hard. Happiness comes from knowing all this, and being grateful for it. Since I know how to do that, I believed I'd never be unhappy again which might or might not stay true. The thoughts that came into my head today were of a different nature though. They were not thoughts, they were feelings. And I haven't had any in a long time.
The reason it is so easy to be happy is that I count my blessings every day and on paper, they look great. Anything other than happiness when living my life would be outrageous. But today I remembered that I am not that person that looks at a sheet of paper and assesses; I'm the girl that closes her eyes and tries to feel. I don't meet people by talking, I don't make decisions by making pros and cons and I rarely ever think about what is "the right thing to do". I have a gut, a body of intuition, and it has seldom let me down. That's where I come from, that's who I am. And as fragile and vulnerable feelings are, this part has stayed concealed from people for many years. In the last year, however, I have hidden them so well I didn't even find them myself.
I said in an earlier post that I think I had learned from the Brits. Their forceful hiding of anything that can be traced to true, raw and life-changing emotion was a way of thinking I had not yet acquainted myself with. I thought maybe, just maybe, my heart leading the way was not the right thing. In the past 390 days of being in this country, I have told many tales, but never the truth. Because the truth is how I'm feeling, how I see the people around me, how very much in love I am with things I cant have. I showed nobody, except for two or three five second breaks where emotions forced their way out, namely in the shape of tears. Almost! But I swallowed them, in true British fashion. There were no tears throughout times that should go down as my hardest. I don't have to get into how that is ridiculous for someone who feels like me.
This hiding of the essence that is me, a cesspool of emotion, feeling, passion and often melancholy, didn't happen voluntarily. I often pride myself on my bravery, having done so many things people are scared of. Most of my peers think I'm a badass because look, that sheet of paper with all my daredevil moves suggests that I am. Having said that, I am scared to feel. So much so that I haven't done it. To really allow myself to acknowledge what has recently happened to me would guarantee feelings, and not the good kind. So I just don't. No acknowledgment of those I love, no acknowledgment of probably the biggest heartbreak of my entire life, no acknowledgment of the anger I feel towards someone who almost ruined my life. I am happy, thats all that mattered.
Happiness is like a drug; I didn't want to let it go. I was able to fool myself into happiness for a year by running away from everything that could threaten it. But now, I'm losing the race. They're getting faster and I'm getting slower. I stayed idle for a long time not changing anything about my situations, sometimes relationships, so that I could keep riding the wave of happiness. Instead, I should have gotten off the wave when it made sense. Sometimes it's right to not be okay. I should really have acknowledged that a while ago and not hide it from myself. It might be the easier way of living, but it isn't mine. I don't write a sheet of paper, I write chronicles. Everyone who has ever seen a glimpse of the part of me I call emotion here has seen the four or five-page letters I compile to express one feeling I have on one given day. In order to be me, I need the chance to write these Chronicles. To write the Chronicles, I need these feelings. And they are forcing their way out now...
The answer is clear, I am not. I like waking up every day, I don't spend days in my bed not leaving my room much like some time when I lost everything I loved. Life is good to me. My journey through this life has been impeccable and exactly what I would always hope for a life although often hard. Happiness comes from knowing all this, and being grateful for it. Since I know how to do that, I believed I'd never be unhappy again which might or might not stay true. The thoughts that came into my head today were of a different nature though. They were not thoughts, they were feelings. And I haven't had any in a long time.
The reason it is so easy to be happy is that I count my blessings every day and on paper, they look great. Anything other than happiness when living my life would be outrageous. But today I remembered that I am not that person that looks at a sheet of paper and assesses; I'm the girl that closes her eyes and tries to feel. I don't meet people by talking, I don't make decisions by making pros and cons and I rarely ever think about what is "the right thing to do". I have a gut, a body of intuition, and it has seldom let me down. That's where I come from, that's who I am. And as fragile and vulnerable feelings are, this part has stayed concealed from people for many years. In the last year, however, I have hidden them so well I didn't even find them myself.
I said in an earlier post that I think I had learned from the Brits. Their forceful hiding of anything that can be traced to true, raw and life-changing emotion was a way of thinking I had not yet acquainted myself with. I thought maybe, just maybe, my heart leading the way was not the right thing. In the past 390 days of being in this country, I have told many tales, but never the truth. Because the truth is how I'm feeling, how I see the people around me, how very much in love I am with things I cant have. I showed nobody, except for two or three five second breaks where emotions forced their way out, namely in the shape of tears. Almost! But I swallowed them, in true British fashion. There were no tears throughout times that should go down as my hardest. I don't have to get into how that is ridiculous for someone who feels like me.
This hiding of the essence that is me, a cesspool of emotion, feeling, passion and often melancholy, didn't happen voluntarily. I often pride myself on my bravery, having done so many things people are scared of. Most of my peers think I'm a badass because look, that sheet of paper with all my daredevil moves suggests that I am. Having said that, I am scared to feel. So much so that I haven't done it. To really allow myself to acknowledge what has recently happened to me would guarantee feelings, and not the good kind. So I just don't. No acknowledgment of those I love, no acknowledgment of probably the biggest heartbreak of my entire life, no acknowledgment of the anger I feel towards someone who almost ruined my life. I am happy, thats all that mattered.
Happiness is like a drug; I didn't want to let it go. I was able to fool myself into happiness for a year by running away from everything that could threaten it. But now, I'm losing the race. They're getting faster and I'm getting slower. I stayed idle for a long time not changing anything about my situations, sometimes relationships, so that I could keep riding the wave of happiness. Instead, I should have gotten off the wave when it made sense. Sometimes it's right to not be okay. I should really have acknowledged that a while ago and not hide it from myself. It might be the easier way of living, but it isn't mine. I don't write a sheet of paper, I write chronicles. Everyone who has ever seen a glimpse of the part of me I call emotion here has seen the four or five-page letters I compile to express one feeling I have on one given day. In order to be me, I need the chance to write these Chronicles. To write the Chronicles, I need these feelings. And they are forcing their way out now...
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