the happiness project

i have a long-standing habit of reading anywhere between 5 and 10 books at a time and juggling between them when i feel like it. because of this, i tend to leave books half-read until i garner the courage to actually finish them. (coincidentally, i do the same thing with television shows, movies… i think i have a problem with following through. or perhaps i just don’t like it when things end.)

one of these books that remains unfinished has been the happiness project by gretchen rubin. i stumbled upon this book and i am so glad that i did. i’m usually a quick reader, but i find myself taking my sweet time when it comes to this book. not from a fear of endings, but moreso a desire to truly take in what i am reading and feel it soak into my bones.

i think part of the reason this book struck me so deeply was because of an oft-repeated phrase in my home growing up: both of my parents would endlessly (very sweetly) repeat that the only things they care about, at the end of the day, is that their children are “healthy, happy, and here”. and i never truly understood how beautiful that was until i reached adulthood. but because of this phrase, growing up in a religious household, and about a thousand other reasons, happiness has been a focus of my thoughts since i was very little. what it means, how deep it goes, where it comes from… the philosophy of happiness has been a real stumper for me.

to be completely transparent with you, i am not sure if i am happy. and i know it is impossible to be happy 100% of the time. but i spend so much time contemplating happiness that i think i care too much about it.

this is not to say that i am unhappy. the most important things to me in my life are my loved ones, my passions, and my relationships with nature, and through those, i am often very happy.

my loved ones are the most wonderful people in the world, and they make me IMMENSELY happy. i have so much love and appreciation in my heart for each of them. and i am very, very lucky. i have loved ones back home and loved ones here in new york, so in a way, my heart is always home. at the same time, when i leave new york, i leave my best friends behind; when i leave maine, i leave my family behind. there is a part of me that always feels as though i am missing out on something; that i am being pulled in a thousand directions.

my time in nature makes me happy. i grew up in the middle of the woods, and spent nearly every day outside for the entirety of my adolescence. when i moved to new york, that was one of the biggest culture shocks i experienced. i went from seeing trees every time i looked out my window to living in the financial district and not seeing a tree for months at a time. i have adjusted, of course - i have lived here for 8 years. one must adjust. but my heart craves clean air, open spaces, wildlife…. that part of my soul is not happy when i am in new york. and even the parks here in the city are not the same. i miss mountains, lakes, farmland… i miss going into the trees and not hearing the sound of cars.

my passions fuel me. they are a huge reason why i get up in the morning. they make me feel alive. but i am an actor, a performer, a creator. i want my passions to be my career. unfortunately, that is very difficult to make happen by oneself. nearly every performer out there has suffered through day jobs, many a whole lot worse than mine. but sometimes i sit at my desk and i have to bite my cheeks to stop from screaming at the top of my lungs and destroying the entire store. it bothers me immensely that i cannot simply make my passions into my livelihood. that i must wait for someone else to give me the opportunity to make those dreams a reality.

this leads me to a realization i had recently. when thinking about the things that make me happy and the things that make me unhappy, i realized that when i am faced with discomfort - mainly, things that make me unhappy - i feel my heart ripping to shreds. i am immensely uncomfortable with discomfort. i am not skilled at endurance, at waiting. i try to find ways to not feel, instead of understanding that discomfort is a natural and important aspect of the human experience.

this year, i am trying to be better at feeling. i am trying to be better about relishing in any feeling because to feel is to be alive, and to be alive is the most beautiful, amazing gift in the world. change and growth are often very uncomfortable. and while it is difficult to endure, sometimes the best happiness in the world comes from looking back at how far you have come, how much you have endured to get to where you are now.

i have endured so much to get here, to get to today. i know i will not give up, because i have come too far to turn back now. but i hope that i am able to continue my own happiness project in pursuit of long-term happiness, not short-term happiness. i hope i continue to grow and change and evolve, and that happiness becomes not the goal, but the result of reaching my goals.

most of all, i hope that you find happiness. i hope that we can celebrate the beauty of it together: the journey it has taken us to get there, the pain and joy and highs and lows and everything in between.

and i am proud of you for how far you have come. i am proud of me for how far i have come. and i am excited to see how far we go.

“so, this is my life. and i want you to know that i am both happy and sad and i’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”
– stephen chbosky, the perks of being a wallflower

beginnings…

i am sitting here at my desk, enjoying a lavender tea and trying to avoid boredom. i also may be at work.

either way, my mind, as it does, has wandered to “what if”s. i spend lots of time writing to myself - sometimes journaling (although it’s a task i’ve found to be immensely difficult to habitualize), and most of the time, in various blurbs and run-on paragraphs that i perpetually lose and then find again, months or years later.

also, as it happens, i am no stranger to a blog. i’ve been a happy consumer to many (especially for recipes), and have authored a few anonymous projects on tumblr. combine those convenient hobbies with my endless desire to ramble on and on and have a place to look over it all… and here we are.

i’m not quite sure i’ll stick with it. i sincerely hope i do.

today, i have a blemish on my face, and i have spent the entirety of the day watching in horror as my makeup melts away from it. it struck me just now how silly it is that i am so worried about it. i cannot pretend that i have never had blemishes before, or that i will somehow magically never have one again. it’s funny to realize that what i’m doing by fixating on it and trying to hide it is just trying to pretend that i’m not flawed.

obviously a bit of a jump. but the bottom line is still there. i spend so much time overtaken with anxieties and fears that all cook down to the same ugly truth: i am terrified at the knowledge that i am not perfect. i am constantly trying to avoid the possibility that someone might see that i have flaws. because, if i am flawed, and if they know it… i’m toast.

on a deeper level, and to put more words to the feeling - i think that my worst fear is being seen for who i truly am. once people see you for who you are, it is out of your control how they react. and not having control is terrifying. because what if they see the truth and they are disgusted? what if i am not enough?

i am trying to accept those thoughts - not that they are true, but that i have them and that it is okay. and i am trying to remember that i am not the only one who has, and who does, feel this way. i’m trying to listen to my own thoughts as if they’re being told to me by my child, or by my 5 year old self. turns out that when you listen to yourself from a place of love and compassion, it is much easier to hear how skewed and blatantly untrue these fears are.

my old therapist would be doing cartwheels if she knew i was actually using the tools she gave me.

when i think about it, it’s like having a nightmare. during it, when it’s being experienced and felt, it is real, and it is the most terrifying monster in the world. when you wake up, perhaps gasping and heaving, the immediate instinct is to shove it down, try to forget it, and go back to sleep once your breathing has evened out. but there is nothing like the relief of talking about it, out loud, to someone else, maybe right then, or maybe later once the sun has risen. nothing neutralizes the power of a nightmare more than bringing it to light (pun intended). once you start talking about it, maybe it starts to sound very silly and not nearly as scary as it was.

as a side note: my recurring nightmare when i was younger was that the giant fib (from Larry Boy and the Fib from Outer Space, of course) was peering into my window with its giant, bulbous eyes. nothing even really happened. i always woke up before he could reach a hand in.

perhaps that is also the same fear i’m describing at the beginning of this post. perhaps it has always been the same: perhaps i have always been afraid to be seen.

no longer. here’s to beginnings!