Happiness: A Writing Group Assignment

Happiness is two kinds of ice cream.

 Knowing a secret.

 Climbing a tree

 ~You're a Good Man Charlie Brown

I learned that song in Mrs. Cowden's Grade 2 class.

 The year my parents divorced, my mom went on welfare, my sister was in and out of the hospital and ice cream was not an affordable means to happiness.

 I made up stories to hunt down this illicit happiness. Stories about being adopted and meeting my real family. You know the king and queen who had been missing their princess for 7 years? Stories about fairies who would give me magic to rescue myself from this crummy life that was happening around me.

 Often these stories were interpreted by others as lies. I'm not sure why the adults around me didn't react to the blaring silent cries for help. Somebody save me. Love me. Tell me I'm worthy.I look back on those fundamental years and am often amazed at how happy I actually am now. 

Circumstance did not plunk me into the outgoing, genuine, thankful personality that I own today. You see, that sister I told you about, she died 9 years ago.

My mom married an ass hole in an attempt to save us from our financial troubles.

 I ran away and hid from my problems for eight years.

 I'm not sure what there is in me that is an over comer. Perhaps it has something to do with the grizzly born inside of me long before I was a mama bear. She grizzlies don't let much stand in their way. 

Maybe it was the books that providence placed in my hands. They certainly have had an effect. Whatever it was I am so very thankful for the influences that have wound their way into my life.

 Being vulnerable is a fine line between authenticity and whining. I speculate that it is there on that tight rope where the happiness swings in the balance.