Living Happiness

It is July 2005, and I am standing in my bedroom in my underwear. It is 11:48 in the morning, and it is a workday. I have been sent home.

Sammy and Zoe, the kitties, sit behind me on the bed and watch. Their little faces follow my pacing and draw back a little when I begin tossing random garments from the closet and onto the bed. Sammy then decides that the latest addition to the pile, his “favorite” sweatshirt, makes a cozier nest than my pillow and curls himself up on it. Zoe gets bored and starts cleaning herself.

I have been sent home for “inappropriate attire.” And now the question is: What can I find that’s suitable? Actually, to be more to the point, “What is the ugliest thing I can find to wear to work that is still in keeping with company dress code policy?” If I’m going to be made a spectacle, I at least want to make a point.

I finally decide on a clearance-item, muted blue, shapeless sweater from Casual Corner, bought when I was 15 pounds heavier. I pair it with a pair of equally shapeless, loose, jersey-cotton pants in navy and slide into a hideous pair of brown flats. I look like my mom. Actually, that’s not fair. My mom wouldn’t be caught dead in such an outfit.

After one more glance in the mirror, assured that I look as frumpy on the outside as I feel angry on the inside, I bid goodbye to the kitties (now oblivious to me), grab my ugliest handbag and walk back out the door. Off to work I go.

My earlier outfit of the day had been cute, smart, chic and trendy: a fuchsia fitted shell with a black-and-white fitted crop jacket, black mid-calf capris and black Nine West pumps. But apparently the sight of my ankles was a sheer abomination to the company’s higher-ups. And what might the clients think? Let us disregard the fact, of course, that I never see any of my clients because my entire job, everything I do, all day long, every day, is conducted by telephone, email and fax. I have only “seen” two of my clients in my entire three years with the company. But let us forget this, shall we?

I am fuming. And I have had enough.

Back at work, nobody notices my hideous outfit.

Later that day: I come home and disengage myself from the accoutrements from hell and throw on my favorite sweatshirt (now covered in kitty hair) and a pair of shorts. The kitties, sated with a yummy helping of Fancy Feast, sit on the bed and watch me again. But they can tell that something’s up, and Zoe nudges over and paws at me from behind as I stand in front of my dresser and contemplate what I am about to do.

I light the candle in front of me and slowly begin to breathe in, breathe out. I close my eyes and imagine a holy place opening up, an area of nothingness and fullness around me, and I feel myself begin to calm. On the dresser in front of me (next to the candle) is a pink chipped saucer, a writing pad, a pencil, and a blue plastic recipe box.

As I calm, I pick up the pencil and begin to write: Things That Have Had a Negative Influence Over Me Today. I think of the incident with the dress code and write it at the top of the list. And then I begin to add all of the other minor events of the day that followed, things that might have seemed trivial to some but which had managed to set my body humming with the injustice of it all. I am a taut string, and I feel like I might break. I write these things down.

When I finish, I look at my list for what it is. Sadly, I notice that it fills almost the whole page. It has been one of those days. But I am determined that it will not continue to be so: there is still day left in my day. And so I fold the paper in half and pick up the lighter in front of me. I strike it and set the flame to each of the three corners of the paper I hold, and I wait. Slowly I watch the paper become ash and drop onto the pink chipped saucer in front of me. I drop the last corner left, and it is done. I look at the ashes and say to them and to myself, “You have no more power over me now. Your influence lasted for a time, but I am not going to carry you with me.”

I take the pink chipped saucer outside and toss the ashes into the bushes.

A few minutes later I am back inside in front of my dresser. I pick up the pencil and the paper again, and I begin to write: Things I Am Grateful For About Today. This is harder than my other list to write. Sometimes it is a great struggle. But I look back at my kitties on the bed, and I write them down. I think of the lunch I had with the girls, and I write it down, too. I think of the yummy dinner I am about to make, and I add it to list. Slowly, my little list fills up. These are my blessings.

I close my eyes again and pray: Thank you for these bright spots in my day. These are the things that gave me energy and joy. Thank you.

I fold the paper and pull the blue plastic recipe box to me. I open its lid and place my list inside. These are my joys. I will not burn them. I will store them, shore them up, against any future storms.

Now my old day has ended, and I’m ready to begin fresh. I feel happier, at peace.
I walk into the kitchen and start supper.