the secret of real happiness

we as humans strive to know what real happiness is and how to achieve it. so where do we go to find out how to live fulfilling and joyful lives?

magazines, Oprah, dietary books and articles; yoga classes, spin classes; lengthy and elaborate vacations to wonderful places that celebrities like going to.

these are not bad things. Oprah probably has a lot of good things to say about feeling good about yourself. it's a good thing to be healthy and exercise; even better to be confident about how you look in your favorite pair of jeans. the world is a wonderful place to explore and i myself want to travel as much as i can to other countries.

but every person is different. every single individual on this earth has different talents, likes, dislikes, and destinies. some things that make one person happy won't work for another person. what saddens me is seeing so many beautiful--absolutely beautiful women--who are naturally curvy because they were created that way and they feel like they have to look like sticks to be happy because diet and exercise works for some celebrity that's starving herself. what saddens me is seeing people who try to squeeze out extra money from their budgets and refuse to eat things they enjoy every once in a while, give in, and then feel bad because it didn't work. what saddens me is seeing numerous people who work miserable desk jobs because they pay more, when they'd rather be doctors, firefighters, designers, photographers, musicians and the like. what saddens me is seeing a culture of americans who strive to be acceptable to the media's standards, and when they can't reach those standards they get depressed and wonder why they're alive. in my opinion, which i assume you want to know since you're reading this blog, happiness is so simple. and anybody can find a balance of a fulfilling  and joyful life by sticking with simple pleasures.

my ideal day off [if that will happen any time soon] would be a day at the beach with my music, a thermos of coffee, and a book. i'm most happy when i'm doing things i genuinely enjoy. i love my job as a hostess in a restaurant, i love taking classes at the college, i love sitting in the sun next to the river by myself sometimes. my life is crazy busy most of the time, don't get me wrong--i barely have time to go to the bathroom sometimes [true story] or eat [truer story]. but i've learned to love my life because of the fact that i am really LIVING my life. if i don't take time to step back and appreciate people i have, alone times, tea, coffee, and mexican food, beautiful weather, crazy teachers and helpful mentors, i get stressed. i snap. but that action of taking half an hour--just half an hour--to do something simple i enjoy until my next day off. . .that saves me a lot of sanity. yes, i take time to work out, i take time to enjoy people's company, i would like to take time to travel, i take time to look feminine and stylish; i live in this society also. sometimes i don't like my job, like right now cuz i haven't worked in about 2 months. sometimes i don't like people. sometimes i can't travel. sometimes i don't want tea, coffee, or music. life isn't perfect. but if it isn't going to be perfect, then that means i get the opportunity to find wonderful things i usually overlook. in my opinion, which this blog obviously revolves around, the secret to happiness is in simplicity. because let's face it, life is probably not simple for all of us. if your life is simple, then you'll do great when robots take over your job. but as for me, i must find enjoyment in simplicity. and i love. . .simplicity.

we all have stories. this is mine.

She looked at me right in the eyes when I presented her with the question. Without any emotion she replied, “My drugs and alcohol don’t criticize me like you do.”

I remembered everything. For two years we spent nearly every day together. People mistook us for sisters, and we acted like sisters. We were inseparable and our hearts were joined together. We got in trouble together and I shared everything with her that nobody else knew. We went to dances together and to my first party.

As time went on, I saw what I was becoming--and easy pick; dressing for attention, dirty-mouthed and depressed. I was in so much pain because as much as I poured my heart out to her, she only fed me lies. Lie upon lie upon lie until it polluted my entire being. This sister of mine was handing me betrayal. I understood perfectly why; she was hurting and fell deeper into drugs and alcohol to numb the pain.

I thought I could save her.

I tried to pull her up and didn’t realize she was dragging me down the slope with her. I fell into the dark hole of hopelessness. I stopped talking to God, who I had trusted all my life until I distanced myself from Him. I was marred and ruined--all I wanted was to feel valuable to somebody because I had no self-worth. By the time I realized I had been dragged down, I had no desire to pull myself back up. That meant I’d have to leave her there, hurting. . .alone. . .stoned.

It got to an unbearable point so I presented her with a choice: “Would you rather have me, who really cares about you? Or your drugs and alcohol?” and then she looked at me and answered. I was fourteen years old. How was I supposed to know how to handle an answer like that?

That was it--after that answer I resolved that since she didn’t care about me; since God didn’t care about me; since nobody cared about me, I would be better off relieving them of their anxieties and take care of it myself. My intention was to numb the pain. I just wanted to feel something other than the emotional pain searing inside of me. I thought of a couple possibilities: I could drink away my sorrows or I could turn to drugs since they were easily accessible. However, I didn’t want to disappoint my family by drinking and if I turned to drugs I’d be just like her, this sister of mine.

So my other option was to take a blade to my innocent skin--yes, that was it. That would be my escape. I stood in my kitchen alone, staring at my options of knives--I would take the biggest and sharpest one to start.

I could hear white noise invading my mind; everything was in confusion; there was no peace, no quiet. My heart was throbbing in my ears and I began to reach my hand out for the knife.

At that moment the static broke--like a veil lifted from my face. For the first time in months I saw clearly and I drew my hand back. I went into my room and finally surrendered to the God I still love and serve.

I was raised in a Christian family, but I didn’t meet with a real God in church--I met with Him at the edge of a knife, at a point of desperation. I turned my back on Him and He still sought me out to bring me back. I didn’t have my life together, but He made it exponentially more beautiful than I could ever make it on my own. I don’t have scars on my wrists because of Him; the scars on my heart have healed because of Him. I didn’t deserve it, but that is what grace looks like--getting what I don’t deserve.

distorted mirrors

i've been mentally MIA--missing in action. i haven't felt like myself in over a week. i knew the main reason why, and as much as i tried to get back to "normal" i just kept becoming less and less like myself. i knew that a part of me had died. it was the joyful, peaceful, people-loving, tea-drinking, music-listening part of me. i didn't want to listen to music, i didn't want to smile.

but i tried. God i tried.

i did simple things that i enjoy to try and savor the moment, and at those times i felt peaceful. like i was almost "normal." but as soon as i was sitting in traffic or saw a mess or couldn't function properly i got so angry.

and i am not an angry person.

all i wanted to do was to punch someone in the face or sit and cry. this is not like me. and i knew it. it made me angry because of the fact that i was angry. i was afraid my old self was trying to creep up again. you know what it felt like?

it felt like i was standing in a room full of distorted mirrors and i couldn't remember [or find] the original mirror that showed me what i really looked like. there were even some that seemed close but i knew that wasn't it. i stopped praying for a couple days. i told God, "God i'm all out of ideas. i don't know what to pray anymore. i don't know what to talk about. i'm listening for you. i'm so starved. but i'm out of ideas." i sat in silence when i wasn't doing anything else. at one point my ipod died so i didn't even listen to music. i didn't charge it. i just let it be dead. like i gave up looking for that mirror.

then something changed. i still don't know how, but it did.

i prayed in my car one night crying to God. i told him i knew part of me had died and i needed him to resurrect joy and peace in my life because i was so hungry for it. i was so hungry for it. i cried hard that night. all i felt was depression. i wanted to feel light again, i wanted to genuinely enjoy my day. something needed to change. the next day i did genuinely enjoy my day. it was a pretty typical day except for a couple things, but i really enjoyed it. i enjoyed going on a run with my dog; cooking delicious soup; doing homework; drinking tea; sitting by the fire.

today was that day when i finally found the right mirror.

i finally feel like myself again. i feel joyful today. i sat in traffic and didn't get angry. i just enjoyed listening to my music. even the way i decided to dress today. . .it's so me. i hate going through dry times like i did for the past week or so, but the reward at the end of them is so great. it's worth it when i look back and see that at those times i probably wouldn't have listened anyway because my heart wasn't in the right place. everything is so much more beautiful today. that mirror makes me look better than i remember. i think God cleaned it up and shined it before i found it again. my identity is beautiful.

love is a battlefield, so wear war paint

How could she know what was about to break out? In the back of her mind she knew it could potentially happen. But they both desired it. How could one moment have such a strong ripple effect?
He was safe, he was her best friend, and he was so inviting.
He desired her.
She wanted it.
It was the eve of a three-year battle, preluded by bliss and pleasure.



The battle started immediately, and he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she was fighting anything at all. She killed her first enemy that night, her second the next night.
She cut them off as soon as they surfaced--she would not let them thrive.
But the enemies were like cockroaches, and for every one she killed, ten would resurface.

She fought strong, swallowing her fears, and though she grew weary she did not falter.
She had to fix this. There had to be an end.
Her injuries and the enemies’ splattered blood soon became her war paint as the battle increased, and she felt her body, soul and groaning spirit becoming stronger with every blow and strike.
However, it seemed she was fighting completely alone.
He had disappeared, and though she came to him battered with her war paint, he seemed to feel no emotion nor to take notice. He simply left her and walked out of sight toward the blood-red sky. He betrayed her, and nonchalantly shrugged at her, missing the enemies.

Two years into this battle she fled to the mountain, hoping her enemies would never find her there.
For a while no one did, and she was, indeed, alone.
She sighed, surveying the battlefield and all the enemies she’d slaughtered. It had to end.
She could fix this.
A handful of miscreants followed her up, tracking her, and she severed their hearts and all connection to life.

There was a quiet moment then, when the air stilled, and she knew she had to face whatever end Destiny had for her. She bided time, regaining her wits and strength. The man never left her mind.
How could he not see? She tried to tell him time and time again, and he merely covered his eyes and walked away.
He had no heart, she resolved. She would fix this.

Year three. The time came for her journey down the mountain, to fight one last war.
She was ready.
Back in the war zone, she lifted her eyes under the splendid armor she wore, and faced her line of enemies. Her war paint glistened underneath her helmet; it was a scarlet victory, if only for the fact that she would fix this battle. She would take whatever end, and she would conquer.
Her enemy slowly marched toward her, and she thought back to the moment that started all of this. Her heartbeat quickened, she closed her eyes, and drew in a steady breath of freedom. Potential freedom.
  
Ripples.

The moment rippled; her heart sent ripples through her body; the enemy’s marching rippled through the battlefield; perhaps the man could finally feel the ripples.
 
She opened her eyes. ‘This is it,’ she breathed through scarlet lips. She raced forward toward her enemy, catching them all off-guard. She would not shrink back anymore, she would not flee again. She would fight until every last enemy was dead at her feet. The first clash of metal rippled in the atmosphere, and the war began.
She fought like never before, yet more enemies continued to come. It had been three years of fighting, and she could feel her breath coming in shallow pulls now. The blood of the enemies was caked on her face and hands now, and she didn’t want the war paint.

She didn’t want any of this.

She wanted to be finished, to end this war, yet she lacked the strength.
Her sword slashed through the flesh of an opponent.
If only that moment had never come!
She stabbed through the belly of another one, his warm blood spilling onto her feet as she jerked her sword back.
What she would give to take it all back and return to her normal life! Enough was enough.

She spun around and swung one final strike yelling, “I can fix this!”
The head fell before her feet as the body crumpled. She looked around her wildly. That had to be it, it had to be! She rested her head on the hilt of the sword, breathing heavily. There was no possible way there could be more.

Suddenly the ground began to shake rhythmically. She faintly whispered, “No, no, not possible. Not possible, please no.” She lifted her head, turned toward the setting sun and saw the largest foe she had yet faced. She feebly pointed her blood-stained sword at him and threw her helmet off, exposing her dirty beaten face, and long burgundy tendrils of hair tumbling down her back.
She would not take on this enemy with limited sight from the helmet. She set her teeth and they flung at each other.
Once his sword missed her smooth neck and cut a lock of hair as she threw her body back. She cut off his hand as he thrust the sword at her belly; he growled at her and picked up his hand still clenching the sword.

She saw his eyes for the first time as she looked up at him--they were fiery and merciless. She tried to scramble away, but in vain.
He struck her, sending her sword flying toward the blood-red sky.

She couldn’t fix this. It was out of her hands.
How foolish she was to think she could fight this alone! Sorrow came over her, and she laid with her face to the ground, her hands clutching the blood-soaked dirt.
The enemy rolled her over like a doll and pinned her down with his foot to her throat.

She couldn’t fix this.

She closed her eyes, if only to see the lovely image of ripples before she died instead of this hideous grimace above her. This was Destiny’s end and she fought strong. She didn’t shrink back or give up.
She tried to fix it.
She felt light, like she was floating in water. Rippling water. The oxygen must be cutting out from her brain. But her body shook, and she realized the enemy no longer had her pinned down.

Her eyes snapped open and she gasped. In a delusional state she saw a figure fighting the enemy with her sword. The figure rolled on top of the enemy, and thrust her sword through his throat and then his heart.
His hand flexed, and then went limp. She had killed enough people by now to know that this enemy was dead.

Her breathing came in shallow rasps. The figure walked toward her, and as her vision cleared (as fog does from glass) it removed its helmet. He knelt down and helped her sit up. Tears tumbled down his dirty beaten face, stained with as much war paint as her was.

It was him. Her best friend, the man.

She could not believe he was there. Why was he as beaten as she? He’d run from the battle.
He began to speak and his voice rippled into her heart. At first she could not make out his words. But as she regained consciousness he was apologizing.
Sobbing and apologizing.
She asked him why he was sorry and he looked at her with compassionate eyes. They were full of love and sorrow; they were the most beautiful thing she had seen in three years of fighting. He did not remove his gaze.

“I was fighting on the other side of the battlefield this entire time. I tried to get to you, but the enemy held me fast. I could not reach you. 
They captured me for the first year, and after I broke out they never ceased to hunt me. I watched you fight relentlessly in the sunrise, and I longed for you.
I wanted to make it all end. I wanted to save you. 
You are the reason that I continued fighting and didn’t give up. 
You were never alone, Love. That last enemy slipped from my grasp and headed for you. I was finally free enough to run after you and destroy him before he destroyed you. I couldn’t let that happen. I was already angry at myself for letting this happen.”

He paused for a moment and turned his lovely eyes downward.

“I could have stopped this, at the very beginning. It was never your fault; it was never your burden to carry.”

She felt her face get hot, which burned into her heart and through her fingertips. He let her believe she was alone, and he was on the other side for three years! She wanted to allow resentment, but seeing him now she had no strength left. She crumpled into his arms and allowed herself to feel.

She sobbed and choked out, “I tried to fix it! I tried so hard! But every time I killed an enemy more would come. Every time I tried to fix it the battle grew more fierce. I tried everything I could!”

She could hear his heartbeat, and he pulled her closer.
He moved his lips next to her ear and whispered,
“It’s not yours to fix. We couldn’t pretend these enemies were mere illusions. What’s done is done. The war is over.”
She looked up at him, and he held her gaze. She could see her reflection in his glassy eyes. She was so worn, but strong. Her war paint was smudged and streaked, and her locks brushed around her neck.
He looked stronger too.
They were two different people now.
He offered a slight smile, kissed her forehead gently and helped her up to her feet. They surveyed the battlefield of fallen mistakes slaughtered on the dirt. There were no words passed between them for a time and their arms steadied each other.
“It’s over,” she breathed. He simply nodded, and handed back her sword. She replaced it into her sheath gently.

So, the ripples had run their course and finally faded. They faced the setting sun and began to make their way home, retrieving their glorious helmets as they walked. He was the man, her best friend. And she loved him dearly. No war could ever change that. They would fight for each other to the end. The wounds would take much time to heal and likely leave gruesome scars, but the war was finished.

Their lives were free to start again.


-based on a true story-

the dialect of music

It is in the few strokes of a piano, strums on a guitar, or beats of a drum that your soul can really begin to feel in ways that are otherwise impossible.
Music is a movement from soul to soul. It is a language never put into comprehensible words, that had to be reduced to mere notes and dots on a scale in order to be contained.
Music is a drug of sorts, or at least a substitution for drugs, where absolutely anyone can really feel.
It’s a place of freedom and release where someone is allowed to do or say anything they want.
Every person develops their own dialect of this complex language to bare their soul.
The heart begins to slow or quicken, breathing shortens or lengthens, and images play in our minds--some of which can never be described or shown.
The soul is set free in an almost delirious joy;
sodden with a romantic loss;
fiery with passion;
simply lazy as it relaxes in solace.
This is an incomprehensible language that allows even the most Hard-hearted and emotionally dry souls to really feel, or brings Wells of Emotion to tears;
it moves from soul to soul, allowing One to connect with another without simple spoken words.

of life.

    Life is too precious to waste.
Who are we to take the authority of assuming that someone would never want to live?
It isn’t our decision to make.
We cannot determine that someone would grow up miserable because of our (or someone else’s) irresponsibilities. Life is fleeting.
We look at our breath hanging in the air on a cold afternoon and it fascinates us. But after only a few seconds it disappears.
So it is with life,
but that does not mean it’s wasted.
So many decisions can be made during that time. What grieves me is how easily it can be cut short.
Life can end so quickly, but I would never want to deprive someone the chance to really live--to love, to laugh, to choose;
to experience joys of season, to kiss, to drink coffee in the company of friends;
to like or dislike things, to be touched or to touch others, to feel rain, to hear snow;
things we take for granted and may count as trivial or irrelevant.
I would never wish to deprive someone of the simple joy of breathing.
It would be better for someone to pass away doing something they truly enjoyed--really living--than to never have that chance in the first place.
That is not for us to decide over another person.

when we talk about love

Love can be an abstract idea. But it is arguably more than an idea.
Love is something we as humans were created for.
We don’t just want love, we need it; we crave it; it is wired into our very being. People have gone to such extreme lengths for the sake of love.
It would seem petty and irrelevant unless one actually looked at what love is.  
It is food, water and medicine for our spirits. We thrive off of it and it satisfies us.
Real love satisfies us.
I am not speaking about temporary, cheap, ephemeral love that easily fills and then leaves a gaping hole bigger and more demanding than before.
That is not love, yet the World has shown us that there is nothing more than that, only because of the bitter experiences society has gone through.
No, that is not love.
Love will never be that simple or that cheap.
It is costly and it is worth more than life itself. Love includes all aspects of a relationship--good, bad, ugly, lovely, temperamental, patient, enduring.
It is raw,
unfiltered,
and unconditional.
Real love is, in fact, the one thing that still stands when all else has fallen.