Over the past several days I have returned to journaling. (Of course, I am using my new pen!) Instead of crying about my problems, wah-wah-wah, I decided to approach it differently. I decided to write about my more intellectual and artistic ideas and pursuits, to set out plans for creativity, and to take action. In and of itself, writing is a creative process that brings a level of satisfaction and contentment that just existing does not.
The “happiness factor” is a key element to life. Being dissatisfied is a great motivator, but I think the “pursuit of happiness” is better. Thus, analyzing what produces happiness for me has really been helpful. My free time – time when I can actually think and do things – is not 7 days a week. Because I have very long workdays, I can merely function half the week. This means doing the things life requires, like working, and then coming home, eating dinner, going to bed and getting up to do it all over again. However, there is a small window of time in the morning, and a small window after work, and using these productively does produce a sense of happiness. What activities does this entail?
In the morning, I enjoy reading the news and looking through blogs as I drink my morning coffee. Most mornings I spend writing for about 15 minutes, not whining, but thinking. Sometimes I edit photos. In the evening, I am lucky as dinner is on the table. Some news, some reading, some socializing, some TV – whatever.
The “doing” is helpful. Creativity. Writing. Thinking. Planning. I looked back over the past 5 days and analyzed my feelings, my sense of happiness, my sense of satisfaction, and by doing all these things, I realized I have felt happier over the last 5 days than I have for some time. I have given purpose and meaning, conscientiously, to a rather tight existence. Saturday, too, I have plans: a first-time with a local meetup writing group.
Too many times we simply flutter day to day. I do not want to live like that. Mortality is for real, and I want to enjoy the time left on my road before it is gone.
Happiness is not something that I feel often, not the kind of deep happiness that settles over one and brings a sense of profound contentment and well-being. For the past hour or so I have been intensely aware of this. It started to descend, for all silly reasons, toward the end of my rebuilding my computer – knowing that a job is near the end. From this, extrapolations into just the pleasures of doing, seeing, living. Right now, my life is incredibly simple. I have a week off, and the weather is gorgeous – warm and sunny with a gentle breeze moving through the hills. Birds are singing. Josh’s birthday is Friday, and there are nectarines ripening on the countertop for his birthday pie. I’m listening to a novel that is entertaining and frightening because of the historical period in which it occurs, the main character is interesting. I’m finishing up a second baby sweater for a friend expecting twin grandsons in a few days or weeks. In my little corner of the world there is peace.
Ink, Yarn & Beer 