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How To Be HAPPY

24 Jun

Pharrell Williams in Adidas

The-Signs-of-Cocaine-Addiction

Finn lamb friends 1st day out 11

“10 THINGS YOU MUST DO TO MAKE YOURSELF HAPPIER”

“7 THINGS YOU MUST DO TO MAKE YOURSELF HAPPIER”

“16.7 THINGS YOU MUST DO TO MAKE YOURSELF HAPPIER”

“123 THINGS YOU MUST DO TO MAKE YOURSELF HAPPIER”

You might be wondering what the above quoted things have in common. Let me enlighten you: they are all probably unique titles that Thought Catalog or Buzzfeed authors may or may not have once thought of when they were feeling creative.

Moving along…

We (as in humans things) always say shit like “I want to be happy” and “I’m not happy” and “I hate that song Happy” and “I remember when I was happy” and “Does anyone have any coke?”.  But what IS “happy”? How do we get to “happy”? Is “happy” a place? A pet? A clump of strategically placed neurotransmitters in the right moment? A Fleetwood Mac song? A powder? A perfectly shaved knee? The perfect accent pillow color combination? A person? The tan man on the wall at Nantasket beach? A crunchy leaf? A beautiful shade of yellow? Ripe avocados?

The truth is, I don’t fucking know.

But what I do know is that I was in a really bad mood today. People just WOULDN’T QUIT. Or maybe that was all in my head and my brain wouldn’t quit (probably the latter). I was on my way home from work, took a corner a little too quickly and there was this perfect moment in which the sun was shining in my face and GOD WAS GOOD BUT SATAN IN THE FORM OF A BMW DRIVING MAN HAD HIS VEHICLE IN PARK (RIGHT ON THE CORNER) CHATTING WITH SOME OTHER SATAN DUDE WHO WAS ON THE SIDEWALK AND BOOM! CRASH! LOUD NOISES! I crashed my car into SATAN’S BMW. I am totally joshing you. This guy was just sitting there in his car talking it up about ride along lawnmowers (probably?) and I didn’t see him and rear ended him. No satan present. Just a guy, that I hit. And he wasn’t mean.

It wasn’t a bad car accident: a fender bender is what our species would call it. Guy’s car had one of those scuffs on the back you can just buff out (in my genius opinion!), and my bumper was dented up. We were both okay. He was decent and didn’t rip my face off or reprimand me. I felt like I was going to have a teary meltdown spazz out session, so I wrote all my information onto an envelope, gave it to the guy, apologized twice, he asked if I wanted his information, I said (meekly): NOPE I’M SORRY BYE! then pulled up 20 feet into my parking lot (GO FUCKING FIGURE, AMIRIGHT?!) and cried hysterically for 3 minutes until my husband appeared at my window and the thought and sight of him alone made me sob even more in a comforting way that is beautiful as cute baby lambs. Then he opened my door. I shut it on him and sobbed. FOR ONE MINUTE. GIVE ME THIS ONE MINUTE! Then I stopped abruptly and looked around. Put my sunglasses on. Sniffled. Looked up at my husband, who had already inspected my damaged bumper, shrugged, and I decided my time was up. Who fucking cares? It’s a bumper and a “bad day”. Put it on the credit card, chalk it up as temporay psychosis and move on.

“HAPPY” isn’t a place or a person or BMW or a green piece of paper supposedly back up by gold with traces of cocaine probably on it. It’s nothing that can be found in a rainbow, or a being, or a favorite Wutang shirt, or in Stevie Nick’s vocals, or in shitty Hull MA, or in having a Tide pen at just the right moment involving red sauce, or EVEN from winning a game of SKI FREE (which is not actually possible, but you can imagine the ecstasy). Happiness is not dwelling on things that will pass (or won’t pass). HAPPINESS IS A CHOICE. We don’t need to list stuff that will make us happy. We can just BE happy. Bad things happen all the time. Some are in our control (at fault car crashes), some are not (non-at-fault car crashes, herpes, Sears, unprovoked dog attacks, creeps, the bee scene in My Girl,  Harrison Ford’s broken leg, etc.). Allow yourself to feel bad, sad, shitty, things. But then consciously say “THAT’S ENOUGH”. If you can’t move on after saying “THAT’S ENOUGH” then you might have depression, but don’t quote me on it, and there might be “drugs” for that, but don’t quote me on it.

I’m sure Maya Angelou would have said it much more eloquently. ❤

NOTE: If that dude calls my insurance company, I take this ALL back.

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