Little Glimpses of Happiness

Simple pleasures are the last refuge of the complex.

Sunday at sunrise

Do you sleep alone?

Do you prefer to wake up to yourself and your thoughts?

The morning might be your own: no one else to consider, no one else to appease. Maybe there's no one who wakes up worried and tells you. Maybe you can drink all the coffee. The hot water's yours. No one who's needing your touch and assurances--given generously like deep deep water--so deep. Unfathomable? Untiring, and continuing to flow freely despite the cold. How? There's no doubt--every rule I've ever learned about these things--everyone using logic and sense...we all know it should be frozen solid now, first slowing and catching as the cold penetrates and bites, then stopping. Stopping, freezing--now it could last. Its flow halted before it reaches the edge, the cliff...and then over. Down, falling, scattering into drops. The rush hits a wall--falls over the edge...the generous whole...broken! Beautiful as it drops--shattered, glistening, yet falling and falling. Why didn't it freeze? Stop to save itself the fall. Frozen until it's safe--frozen yet whole, together. Unmoving, but not broken. Certainly not giving up control. As ice, it doesn't have to fear the fall or worse--the end of the fall.

Maybe you don't.

Instead, she might return that generous touch, the unending assurances. Someone who won't bring the cold. No way is she letting it near you.

Ten random little things

This is more of a forward/blog/bulletin that I've been told I need to fill out. I can't sleep, so I will.

1. I once at an entire box of Teddy Grahams in the store before checking out and had to pay for an empty box.
2. Sometimes, I sing for hours at a time in the car--really hours--without stopping, both because it's fun and because in my mind I get better the more and the louder I sing.
3. I have an intense fear of spiders, but I am working on it.
4. I love love love the cheesy 80s pop rock--the cheesier the better. Spandeau Ballet anyone?
5. No matter how many times I hear them, certain songs from Les Mis will make me cry every time.
6. I love rain. The sound, the smell, the way it feels completely soaking me when I go on a run, the feeling that it's ok to stop and break my schedule to curl up safe and comfortable in my bed or sit at a coffee shop or watch a movie with someone I love--even if that feeling is brief and unrealistic, I love it.
7. Most of the time I feel the most relaxed in the middle of the rush of life in a big city.
8. I don't have anything against tv, I just don't ever watch it.
9. Give me the perfect cup of coffee, and I'm pretty much guaranteed to be content.
10. I can fall in love with too much on too many different levels too many times a day. Or maybe it's not too much or too many. It could be just the right amount.

Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it?

Oh, the marathon. I've come to find I don't love distance running. Not super-long distances or not right now, anyway.

While running today, I let my mind wander, as I usually do (one of the best things about running), and I found myself thinking...wait a minute...didn't Pheidippides die after his run from Marathon to Athens?? Is this really a wise idea? Fables and myths don't persist through the ages unless there is an aspect of truth involved, right? Sure, maybe the truth is that great accomplishments are worth a certain sacrifice (um, but someone's life?). Maybe some writers/poets have said his heart burst due to joy at the Greek victory. Also quite noble--fine. But for me it seems as good a reason as any to question my initial desire to run in the first ING GA marathon...in two short weeks.

I, for one, might just choose to learn my lesson from the past, lest I repeat it. I felt pretty close today, and judging from personal experience, I'd say the "joy" theory of heart-bursting is looking pretty unlikely.

Pheidippides
by Robert Browing

So, when Persia was dust, all cried, "To Acropolis!
Run, Pheidppides, one race more! the meed is thy due!
Athens is saved, thank Pan, go shout!" He flung down his shield
Ran like fire once more: and the space 'twixt the fennel-field
And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through,
Til in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine through clay,
Joy in his blood bursting his heart, - the bliss!

Well I'm forever under lock and key

Sometimes, in the midst of summer
I find within me an invincible winter

But I think maybe it's not quite invincible
and I could learn
to undress it

Shed the protective winter layers
and let the forgiving sun kiss my skin
Soon?

I'm done with not knowing for sure

By pedaling madly, coasting and carefully carefully sharing the narrow bridge with cars speeding across the island, we made it to the end of the road and the beach! It was a long but beautiful ride. It wore us out, and we took ourselves and our bikes back in a taxi.

I got on a bicycle on Monday. It was a rickety, squeaky cruising bike, and I was happy that it seemed well-used. It looked like my bike--the one in my dining room that I wish were well-used. How is it possible to feel guilty about not riding a bike? The one on Monday had a care-free air. It had been enjoyed for years before I rode it, and knew it would go on many more rides whether I came along or not. Either way, it was going to do what it was made to do and fulfill its purpose. Happiness.

My bike is reliant on me to fulfill its purpose. It makes me happy to look at it--I absolutely love the idea of it. I picture myself riding it all around town...doing my little errands, wind blowing through my hair and clothes. Sometimes I'm carrying my laptop and school books on my back when my daydreams are responsible. Other times I'm just hopping on to head to Trader Joe's to pick up $3 wine or going to Katie's for any reason or none.

I haven't done those things, though.

Someone gave me this beautiful shiny sky blue bike. It's perfect for me in so many ways. It's not new--it's old-fashioned looking and has those guards that protect you from the top part of the wheels. It has character. I know it wasn't as it is now before he gave it. He saw its potential when he bought it--spent hours cleaning, polishing, making it shine for me. Checked the gears, chains, tires--made it safe for me. Put a big red bow on it and gave it to me because it could make me smile. It made me smile when I first got it, and it still makes me smile when I see it. I smile, but I also want to cry. I wonder why I feel as though I can't handle the responsibility of having something so lovely for myself. Still, I love the idea of it.