Living Happiness

It’s Sunday morning here in Crete, and I am sitting, listening to the rain falling, and trying to breathe. Of course, the natural, involuntary breathing, well … that’s happening. Air is still coming in and out of my lungs, and I haven’t keeled over yet from forgetting to remind myself to do this. But the other kind of breathing, the breathing that lets me “be,” the breathing that fills me up and drains me out … well, that’s what I’m having a problem with.

I woke up this morning tense, anxious. Even though it’s a Sunday, and the most I have to do today is relax (not really … but we can pretend this is mostly true), even though it’s Shabbas, well … my heart feels differently. And apparently it’s speaking to my lungs.

My heart races, my muscles tense up, and I find myself holding my breath. “Breathe,” I command myself, when I realize this is happening. “Let go and breathe in big!” I do this, only to find myself holding my breath again a few moments later. It is no wonder that the rest of me is as tense as a kettle drum.

This is how I’ve felt since I started this blog. I began it for me and as a response to what I felt was a clear omen of what I was supposed to do. But instead of appreciate it for what it is, my space, I am suddenly plagued with doubts and fears. What if other people don’t like it? What if other people don’t see it? What if I look like someone’s big fool? And even though I imagine these are only natural questions, the same thing every new blogger must ask herself, I have to remind myself: “This is for you, Chania Girl. This is for you. Breathe!”

True, but … isn’t it the nature of a blog to be for you, too? Where do I find the balance?

I read something recently (something that I’d read before in the past as well) that said that what lives on in a writer’s words are not the generalizations, the general statements of truths. Rather, the more specific a writer is, the more mundane the subject matter, the more life it has. In my mind, I can acknowledge this to be true, but in practicality I find myself asking, “‘Really? People want to know what I had for breakfast this morning?” (Quiche lorraine and fruit salad, by the way, with vanilla-hazelnut coffee.)

Well, we shall see. Only time will tell.

For now, I will concentrate on my breathing–breathe in, breathe out (it’s getting better since I’ve started writing this post)–and will try to go and enjoy this Shabbas. The rain is falling. The air is cool. And I feel an afternoon of quiet jazz coming on.

Om shanti.

Namaste.

Peace be with you.

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about happiness. Mostly because I have decided to start a blog. And in starting that blog I also somehow decided to name it “My Pursuit of Happiness.” Even I can admit that I’ve set my bar a bit high. What exactly am I trying to do? I thought I was just going to be writing down some thoughts and comments, observations from my little corner of the world. What does all of this have to do with happiness? And why am I setting myself out to sound like some kind of a guru? Or am I? Hopefully not.

I can honestly tell you that part of this “happiness” preoccupation of mine is due to a puzzle of sorts. For you see, over the past few months (several months actually) I have many times felt anything but happy, for many reasons. But despite what I feel has been an overriding sense of unhappiness in my life and dissatisfaction with how things are, I am repeatedly surprised by friends and acquaintances who say to me, “You seem so happy.”

Now, part of this I know I can be due to our own ability to gloss over negative things in our lives, to put positive spins on things, to present ourselves “best foot forward” when we’re dealing with other people. But I do wonder, am I really happier than I think? And is this what people see?

Today’s quote, by Albert Camus, seems to put its finger on it for me: “But what is happiness except the simple harmony between a man and the life he leads?“

Perhaps what others see, that I most of the time don’t see, is the overriding harmony of my life. For despite its ups and downs (what have seemed mostly “downs” as of late), my life now is more in harmony with who I am than it has been before. And it certainly bears no resemblance to my life once upon a time, the life that so many of my friends knew because they were there with me in it.

Once upon a time I lived to please other people, to do what was expected of me, to check the right boxes and fill-in the right slots. I didn’t love what I did or do what I loved. I did what was expected. And I lived in guilt. Most of the time.

But one day those things began to change, precipitated by a series of negative events (thank god for those). And I began walking away from that life in a series of very small steps. Slowly I began learning to please myself before pleasing others, to do what I wanted rather than what I felt obligated to do, to listen to myself and, in short, to become my own best friend.

Slowly I realized that my corporate job was not where I wanted to be. I realized that I was not ready for the yard with the picket fence and the SUV. And I realized that, though I’d tried to tamp it down, deny it, refuse to acknowledge it, underneath all my protestations, I was and wanted to be a teacher. And I also wanted to travel.

Even though my life has been undeniably hard over the past several months, I cannot deny that I am doing what I want to be doing. I am a teacher, and I love it. And I live in Greece, a far cry from my hometown.

I do not think that people have to take off to faraway lands to bring harmony into their lives. But I do think sometimes we may have to take drastic measures in our lives to bring them into harmony with who we really are. Of course, the question is: Who are we really?

I don’t think most of us know. And I know that, for me, I feel like this changes all the time. Or does it? Maybe I’m not so fickle as I think I am. Maybe the harmony of my own life can attest to that. Maybe it vibrates like a tuning fork that’s in key. And maybe that’s what people see?

I hope so. Or at least that’s what I aspire to. And I hope you will, too.

Peace to all of you.