I know how the saying goes: we are what we think all day long. I get that. I begin every day feeling happy, truly happy. I'm like a kid on Christmas morning every day, excited about what the day will bring. Now, that doesn't mean I don't get tired, and want to sleep in sometimes. And yes, I do need coffee, because I am addicted to it, to wake up my brain and help my mouth form complete sentences. I may not physically look excited and happy, or even content in the mornings. But the truth is, I am. I love my life. I get to create all day, every day. I have wonderful friends, and the best boyfriend on the planet. Work, for me, is fun. I am happiest when I'm absorbed in a project, and working at it for days at a time. I'm grateful for everything. I wouldn't want anyone else's life, that's for sure.
It takes a lot to bring me down. And it's not something that happens to me very often. I have meltdowns every now and then, but it's been a long time since the last one. I can't even remember when that was. Life isn't something to get over and have a happily-ever-after forever. This isn't a depression, it's not even sadness really. There wasn't any catastrophic event that drug me down into the pit of despair. Nothing at all that dramatic.
But sometimes, life throws so much at me that whatever positive practices or uplifting routines I have just don't do the trick. Does anyone else experience this? I mean, I know for a fact that there are always those in the world who have it worse than I do. I'm not complaining about what I have or don't have. Those aren't even things that matter to me. Things themselves don't matter to me.
This week has been a big wallop, just smacking me down no matter what I do. I had to face a few big hard truths these past few days. Even with that, I still managed to wake up, look outside, watch the sunrise, get up, get dressed and get out of the house. But I found myself not feeling so great. Even during my morning drive, music didn't work its magic on me either.
Coffee, long drive, music - those are usually guaranteed to perk me up.
This isn't a doom and gloom blog post. I think it's important for those of us, who appear blissed-out and eternally positive to the whole wide world, to know it's okay to not feel okay sometimes. I'm not curled up in a ball in the corner, sobbing uncontrollably. I'm not ready for the psych ward, yet. it's just, like a void.
I heard someone in a grocery store this afternoon say to another person "hang in there, not much longer left to this day." And it made me wonder, how many people get up every day and go to a job, or do something that they don't like. And all they can think about is "when will this day be over?" Life becomes a chore that they have to do, every single day. I looked around at the people in the grocery store, and most of them pretty much looked like they just gave up on life. They go through with the routine every day, but do they feel satisfied? They just sort of exist, not really living a fully abundant life.
I don't want that to be me. I am one of the lucky ones, I think. And just because I'm not feeling too positive lately, does not mean that I'm feeling negative at all. I'm just feeling blah, eh, not so hot.
So here's to us, the veterans of the gutter. Those unfortunate souls who get stuck sometimes, even though we're ultra-positive to those in need. I'm going to treat myself to something yummy tonight, and take a long hot bubble bath, watch a movie on Netflix, and enjoy a deep sleep. Maybe I'll even sleep in tomorrow. Who knows, maybe the reset button will kick in and I'll be a totally different person by morning.
Thanks for reading.
I remember 7 as being a good year. It was 1972 and all seemed well in my world - safe in the little New England town where I grew up. I wasn't aware of the war that was being fought or the state of the economy. I was just a kid learning to ride a bike without training wheels.
Days were filled with everything from catching frogs in the creek, making mud-pies and picking wildflowers, to playing the piano, painting with watercolors and tea parties. I was a tomboy who liked to play dress-up - gypsy style was my favorite.
Climbing trees was my specialty. Scaling the sides of huge boulders was a cinch. I was fearless and curious. Living in a house in the middle of the woods made it easy. There was a whole imaginative world waiting for me right outside the back door.
The bridge-like fort that was built across the creek was the pirate ship that my brothers and I played on. In winter, snow storms didn't stop us - we built igloos and became Eskimos. Fall led way to huge piles of leaves, which we flew into from the swing-set in the backyard, making us circus performers.
I started journaling when I was 7, capturing the fantasies of faeries and elves who lived in the hollow trees; mysteries of summer nights with glowing eyes in the high branches and sparkling fireflies; the full moon snow storms - falling pixy dust; and the magical changing of the colors of the leaves in fall, painted by little forest creatures.
It was the year my love for creating began. My imagination was turned on and the stories began to flow. I was happy most of the time. Seven was a good age to be.
~ Zushka Biros
I am living the dream, one day at a time, and sharing my experiences with you.
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