On this day six years ago, I spoke at my mother’s life celebration. I told stories of her childhood and young adult years, her marriage to my father, and how she raised her family. Her devotion to her grandchildren was legendary; her stoicism in the face of heartbreak was absolute. But the singular attribute that impacted me the most was her joyfulness. As I related at her memorial:
The truth is that I continued to learn from my mother to the very end of her life. I learned from her strength and her courage, her stoicism, and her grace. But most of all, I learned from her joyfulness. She understood that, fundamentally, you are responsible for your own happiness, and being happy is a choice you make every day. She made that choice, day after day. As a result, she created a life that was joyful, interesting, engaged, and very, very busy.
In a year that has scorched me with pain, I am blistered raw with another blow, the death of the Honorable Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I had intended to devote this blog post to her but knew that I would be dissatisfied with the finished product and that it would not do her justice. Instead I bowed my head in defeatist resignation. To add to today’s mayhem, the U.S. coronavirus deaths now exceed 200,000, horrific itself but also a grim reminder of what lies ahead. I feel like the world is catapulting chaotically like a horse without a rider, reins flapping and stirrups slapping.
It would be easy to give myself a pass today. I could walk instead of taking a long run. I could skip the tedium of writing a blog post and settle for a simple statement that the world is a kilter and that I am powerless to do anything except pause and reflect. And yet, the stubborn shadow of resilience shades me from bright hot pain.
Happiness is not a choice for people burdened with clinical, neurochemical depression and anxiety. I am vastly grateful that I am not in that group. I have the privilege of considering the insipid lure of self-pity, and I decline its insincere invitation. I bolster myself with boundary-setting limits on social media, and I allow myself the luxury of running at a pace my exercise buddies would chide me for. I focus on cleaning and work projects that are gratifying and achievable. I set aside the relentless pursuit of writing exaction and remind myself that perfection is the enemy of good.
I reassure myself that happiness is there for the asking, quietly waiting its turn to be freed from the confines of despair. The buoyant, hopeful bounce of positivity is just below the surface.
I release the pressured part of me that finds comfort in discomfiture, and good cheer bobs its unflagging head.