The following is a bit about happy endings. An initial thought and a poem to follow. I’ve been musing on this idea for the past few weeks and what exactly “happy” means to me. More on that in a different newsletter. For now, lmk what y’all think about the poem in the comments and/or what happiness means for you in this season of life.
As far as endings are concerned, I’d like to keep them in my mind as optimistic, enthusiastic and hope-filled as humanly possible. I’m a realist 90% of the time, so this idea is mind bending.
And, that leaves me to consider the process to get there. It seems insurmountable. Are all processes happy? Or just the ones that lead to my desired happy ending? To get there requires tunnel vision, persistence. Frankly – doing stuff ion like – and a great deal of self control. BUT I want that ending so bad! And I want it to be happy…
“happy”
an audacious concept when it comes around I squint almost cringey like why do I smile at the boldness of sun rays or how colors are fashioned on a page? such ideas or beyond me & don't require much to love. these are designed for leisure and lethargy yet they are to my enjoyment & I find it shameful to admit. the personality of it makes me question my better judgement. the tiny moments of dancing in the mirror forcing my body to glide into rhythm of a two step are betrayal. I remind myself we don't do this kind of happy. the feeling is loud, consuming, ubiquitous even though I’m shy to it too serious too often to enjoy the simplicity of it. & when I try and let it sink in my senses tense, reminding me it’s not safe here. or maybe it is? never been the silly type the carefree girl the goofy friend it's the opposite of everything I’ve known. and I’m like wayment this is childish the way I laugh at life feels awkward like can I let myself enjoy this? my past battles my present for space, my heart memory taught me not to rest in happy because misery could come at any moment. experience trained me to wear a bulletproof vest though no war in sight. but this happy? intrigues me. the kind I'd be uncomfortable long enough to achieve the type my body's never felt before the moments my mind can store new memories in the space the little girl in me can relish unadulterated, unpredictable, satisfying. in an attempt to give up
the weight my shoulders have been shouldering all alone for an enigma of happiness a conundrum of bliss a quandary of contentment that I'm willing, finally, to reach.
Keep being honest,
Shanisha.