My View

“Joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day.” 
― Henri J.M. Nouwen

It is early morn on my first birthday. The northern Scottish sky is still heavily laden with winter night, struggling to throw off its deep slate grey cloak to reveal this feast day. My little, plump legs learnt to toddle two months ago, and they unsteadily carry my excited self into the darkness of the sitting room. I am greeted by a tree, glittering and twinkling in a corner. It is underplanted with presents; one is unwrapped, and has lights glowing from inside. It is a dolls house, made entirely by my Daddy, made just for me, his baby daughter. Christmas or birthday present? I know not. It is my very first memory, my first birthday and my second Christmas Day, a loving diary note tucked joyfully into my heart for me to freely unfold whenever I choose.

A newly wed bride and her groom hug me tightly to them, a genuine, smiling, warm embrace which sets right so many wrongs in my head and my heart, lighting a happy glow which slowly extends to all four corners of my being.

I am cleaning. Its a drudge. My iPod is on shuffle. The jangling, acoustic chords of G N’ R Lies’ sixth track fill the room and, shunning self pity, I jilt the Dyson and don’t give a flying fiddlers fart who can see me leaping with abandon and my hair flicking in all directions.

I am six. My brother is four. We are on a long, long journey; endless motorways, shadow flickers of bridges skimming overhead, hot acrid tarmac, traffic, fumes, boredom and bickering, shining pale golden summer barley fields, gargantuan steaming cooling towers, the fine glitter of a far off sea. The four wheels grind slowly up a hill. We reach the summit. ‘Where are we?’, ask our parents. We clamber to stand on the handbrake; a familiar town spreads out in front of us. A grenade of excitement explodes in my stomach; I know who lives in this place – Granma and Grandad!! I am so happy, I can hardly breathe as we travel the final mile to their welcoming home, tea and treacle tart.

I am tired and stressed and my body is on fire with pain. I am setting off on a journey. A warm hand squeezes mine, a voice tells me that I will be missed. The voice says that I am beautiful, and his eyes tell me that he is not lying. He smiles, and I smile too.

It is three in the morning, and I carefully settle into my bed cradling my three hour old daughter in my arms. Her perfect, unbearably minuscule, pink fingers stretch and close, her enquiring eyes follow the shadows on the ceiling, and my love for her newborn dainty spirit completely takes my breath away. We are joined by her teeny-tiny toddler sister; sleepy eyes glowing like a pair of harvest moons, giggling, softly kissing her baby sister’s forehead and gently touching her fingers. As I watch them I am overdosing on joyful love; I think that my heart will burst with the tide that surges through my body, but it doesn’t – my heart expands to wrap the greatest gift that I will ever be blessed to receive.

I am lying on the lawn, the Spring sun is warm on my face and silky strands of cirrus embroider the sky. A butterfly, a glorious Peacock, flutters over my head and I barely feel it land on my resting finger. I remain statue still, with noiseless, shallow breathing, lest it should be disturbed. My delicate companion elegantly extends it’s exquisite fans, and stays with me awhile.

I am asleep. I open my drowsy eyes, their gaze resting on a steaming cup of tea that been loving placed beside me.

The letterbox quietly clatters, and I pick up a postcard from my now adult first born child. There are no words, save for the address, but drawings instead. I smile. I love her quirky individuality.

It is Christmas Day, my birthday. I am watching ‘ The Princess Bride’ for about the gazillionth time. I let slip this fact on social media. My brothers and sister and I, scattered as we are through the southern counties, proceed to quote lines from the film to such an extent that there are seventy six replies to my original post, and I giggle about it for at least a week.

I’m still giggling now.

My journey over the last few years has been strewn with emotional potholes and direction altering rocks, during which (thankfully) I have learnt to seek joy; it happened by chance, and it wasn’t easy, but it saved me from becoming someone that I liked even less than the small and obscure person that I was.

On NYE 2013 I decided to complete the #100happydays challenge, in memory of someone that I loved very much who died of depression. Every day I took a picture of something that made me smile, then posted it on Facebook. It started very superficially with books and cups of tea and biscuits (all absolutely essential self sustenance) , but morphed diversely as I progressed through the days. Much has been written on the very buzzy concepts of happiness and joy, in more informative ways than I am capable of expressing, and so I am not going to attempt it here. I read some fabulous books, listened, talked, learnt. I asked lots of questions, to which I may never get an answer:

What, for the love of ginger nuts, actually is ‘happiness’ and ‘joy’? Are they different?

What is ‘positive psychology’? How can I best live my life? 

My 100th challenge post was an out of focus picture of a local landscape focal point – I had this big, grand plan to finish with something pretty but the camera refused to focus, preferring to sharpen on an thorny, arching bramble in the foreground. In my failing (expletive littered) frustration, I took my eye away from the camera, and noticed six glittering goldfinches just a few feet away from me. They may have been there for a while, but they scattered with the breeze the moment that I spotted them. I stood in the field, with my feet dampened by the dew-laden grass and the radiation mist lifting as the sun warmed it, and had a little Epiphany: its all very well having a big dream or ideal to aim for, but while I was are striving towards it, was I taking any notice of the life-enhancing moments that I was passing by? I’m not sure that I was.

I was asked to carry on with my #100happydays posts, and I did so as much for myself as for others. They carried me through an incredibly challenging time in my life, which I have described in previous blog posts.

So now I endeavour to be fully engaged in those small, simple moments that add enhancing, happy jewels to the woven fabric of my life. I will get to the end of my track soon enough, so I must take time to enjoy all of my journey. I tuck those treasured, joyful notes carefully into my memory scrapbook where I can remember them and share at will. I have shared some with you.

I have my life.

I have love.

I have my home on the hill.

I promise to savour each moment, laugh with my belly and love wholeheartedly.

These are my words.

This is my view.