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2050

Abstract

g, don’t we?</p><p id="b273">When I was 25 years old, I learned something about intentional happiness that has stayed with me all my life.</p><p id="b479">When I was 25 I fell in love.</p><p id="3574">With whom, you ask?</p><p id="55d4">With no one.</p><p id="1896">I fell in love as an intransitive verb.</p><p id="16b1">I just chose to be in love, leaned into that feeling the way someone dives into a pool, and voila — I was in love.</p><p id="603c">I was deeply in love, and the sidewalks looked pretty, and I noticed all the flowers, and the sky was blue and the air had a smell of joy and hope and wonder.</p><p id="909a">I was in love.</p><p id="ccb5">It didn’t last but a week (longer than the girl, if you think about it.) But it lasted long enough to teach me about intentional happiness.</p><p id="d1e5">You can choose happiness.</p><p id="084a">In Spite of circumstances, in spite of what you have and what you don’t, you can choose, arbitrarily, to be happy.</p><p id="f204">And what does happiness feel like? It feel hopeful. It feels alive. It feels young. It feels full of wonder and hope.</p><p id="41fd">Happiness is magic.</p><p id="d00f">There are also times when happiness is happening, and one doesn’t know it. And then we look back, years later, and we realize, I was happy then. And that’s kind of a shame — to be happy and miss it, because we take it for granted. Because we’re not paying attention.</p><p id="6a0c">A summer Sunday in Buenos Aires, my 3-year old daughter running around chasing fireflies.</p><p id="5c0c">A simple walk around the block with my spouse and my young son — both holding his hands, and swinging him high, and the sound of my son’s laughter.</p><p id="4034">The most intense moment of happiness — and also sweet sorrow — was when my lover took me to see bioluminescent plankton in Bainbridge Island, off the coast of Seattle.</p><p id="1596">A dark night, the gentle lapping of the water, and every time we moved our hands in the water, the waters lit up, and danced.</p><p id="05f3">Magic.</p><

Options

p id="2f7d">The relationship was ending, and we both knew it. We were saying our gentle, tender goodbyes that weekend. The most intense happiness. The sweetest sorrow.</p><p id="6432">So what does happiness look like? It looks like gratefulness. It looks like belonging. It’s been seen, and being celebrated. It looks like deserving.</p><p id="3ae5">And yes, it’s magic. Happiness is magic.</p><figure id="bed9"><img src="https://cdn-images-1.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:800/1*KwGMFVK3B0rvFU5AHpCrng.jpeg"><figcaption>I didn’t get a chance to capture my experience in Bainbridge Island. This is Bioluminescence in Cocoa Beach, FL, from <a href="https://www.cocoakayaking.com">CocoaKayaking.com</a> (if you’re ever in Florida, go see them). But my experience did look a lot like this.</figcaption></figure><div id="6fc9" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-things-i-cant-tell-you-d6b3a0e43b0a"> <div> <div> <h2>The things I can’t tell you</h2> <div><h3>The thing that hurts the most are the things left unsaid.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*Ne17oqs06w86fKQH_UhcUQ.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><div id="1074" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/thoughts-i-think-while-getting-a-brain-mri-4ee6b7a71cb9"> <div> <div> <h2>Thoughts I think While Getting a Brain MRI</h2> <div><h3>Just something wrong with my brain, folks. Nothing to see here.</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/1*X6hXnCa1rRFNgMRRKrI3JQ.jpeg)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

Happiness is Magic

What does happiness look like? I’ve seen it, once or twice. It is magical.

So what is happiness, anyway?

I’m thinking about my first moment of intense happiness.

I was six years old.

The whole family coming back from Church, my father handing me the keys to the house. I open the door, and there they are — two gleaming new bicycles. My first bike. And my brother picked the blue one, so I got the red one — the one I wanted. Such intense happiness.

And not only that — a thousand moments riding that bicycle over the next few years. Freedom. Adventure. Magic.

So, what is happiness? Things? Presents? Maybe. Maybe not so much.

Happiness is realizing that I can get something amazing. That I might deserve something amazing. And happiness is knowing that amazing things can happen to me.

Happiness is agency. Happiness is freedom, adventure, and magic.

My next moment of intense happiness was at sixteen. A whole week of deep, intimate conversations with God. (To clarify, I’m an atheist now. But hear me out.) I don’t mean prayer. I mean talks, like buddies. If that was prayer, it sure was bossy, and entitled. It certainly was… certain.

I knew what I wanted, I told God it was the right thing that should happen. I told God what he should do. And he went along with my plan. My plan was to get the girl. And I got the girl.

Sure, it lasted four days. But that’s not the point. God came through. So I felt heard, I felt I was right, I felt I was deserving.

So, what is happiness?

Happiness is being heard. It is to belong. It is to matter.

Happiness is being deserving — and now we see a pattern emerging, don’t we?

When I was 25 years old, I learned something about intentional happiness that has stayed with me all my life.

When I was 25 I fell in love.

With whom, you ask?

With no one.

I fell in love as an intransitive verb.

I just chose to be in love, leaned into that feeling the way someone dives into a pool, and voila — I was in love.

I was deeply in love, and the sidewalks looked pretty, and I noticed all the flowers, and the sky was blue and the air had a smell of joy and hope and wonder.

I was in love.

It didn’t last but a week (longer than the girl, if you think about it.) But it lasted long enough to teach me about intentional happiness.

You can choose happiness.

In Spite of circumstances, in spite of what you have and what you don’t, you can choose, arbitrarily, to be happy.

And what does happiness feel like? It feel hopeful. It feels alive. It feels young. It feels full of wonder and hope.

Happiness is magic.

There are also times when happiness is happening, and one doesn’t know it. And then we look back, years later, and we realize, I was happy then. And that’s kind of a shame — to be happy and miss it, because we take it for granted. Because we’re not paying attention.

A summer Sunday in Buenos Aires, my 3-year old daughter running around chasing fireflies.

A simple walk around the block with my spouse and my young son — both holding his hands, and swinging him high, and the sound of my son’s laughter.

The most intense moment of happiness — and also sweet sorrow — was when my lover took me to see bioluminescent plankton in Bainbridge Island, off the coast of Seattle.

A dark night, the gentle lapping of the water, and every time we moved our hands in the water, the waters lit up, and danced.

Magic.

The relationship was ending, and we both knew it. We were saying our gentle, tender goodbyes that weekend. The most intense happiness. The sweetest sorrow.

So what does happiness look like? It looks like gratefulness. It looks like belonging. It’s been seen, and being celebrated. It looks like deserving.

And yes, it’s magic. Happiness is magic.

I didn’t get a chance to capture my experience in Bainbridge Island. This is Bioluminescence in Cocoa Beach, FL, from CocoaKayaking.com (if you’re ever in Florida, go see them). But my experience did look a lot like this.