In the past, I always hated when people asked me
the simple question, “How are you?” because the answer—the truth—was ugly and something
they probably didn’t want to hear. It’s a superficial question we all ask to be
polite, and what we expect the answer to be, whether it’s true or not, is what
almost everyone says: “I’m fine.” While deep down we may genuinely care about
the happiness of others, we ask mostly for selfish reasons, to come across as
kind and compassionate so we can continue our day feeling good about ourselves.
After all, we have our own problems with which to contend, our own illusive
happiness to chase.
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of vacationing in Maine,
in the Casco Bay area. Anyone who knows me can tell you I’ve always wanted to
go to New England, and Maine was at the top of my list. Although there were
many places I wanted to visit—Paris, England, Australia—I desperately needed to go to Maine. It’s something I
have harped on for my entire adult life. Why Maine? I honestly don’t know; all
I can tell you is the area beckoned my soul as if I belonged there. I just
knew there was a quaint cottage nestled in a wooded area, near a rocky beach
with my name on the mailbox. I was convinced that if I ever made it to Maine I
would be truly happy.
So after a three hour airplane flight we arrive in Portland—my
husband, Wally, his parents and I, and contrary to what I’d always imagined, I
am no happier than I was back in Indiana. In a rental car on the way to our hotel, I
am anxiously looking out the window at the lush landscape and charming Cape Cod
houses in search of inspiration. Where was that magical feeling I’d dreamed of?
Where was my instantaneous bliss?
The next day, in downtown Portland, I finally get my first
close-up experience of a Maine harbor. As soon as the car is parked I bolt from
it and run out onto the pier. Surrounded by docked sailboats, the salty air on my
cheeks, seagulls above me dipping close to my head, all at once my heart takes
flight and I feel a goofy, childlike grin take over my face. My in-laws are chattering
behind me, and Wally is asking me something about his sunglasses, but I am
speechless.
Now, once again, I’m back in my home in Indiana. Am I happy?
Perhaps the most sincere answer I can give is "Most of the time." For me, happiness comes
and goes. Even though I had a lousy childhood and my young adult years weren’t much
better, there were snippets of joy sprinkled throughout so intense that when I recall them today they
still bring a smile to my face. At eight years old, dancing on my grandma’s
baby grand piano as she played it, and later, as an adult, hearing the laughter
of my children.
It’s been said that we create our own luck. I say we create
our own happiness too. We all have a choice. We can allow the dark spots of our
past to overshadow our future, or we can recognize and seize the fragments of
light all around us as life so generously presents them daily. I choose happy :). Which do you choose?
