The Possibility Posse
I've been sending meme's of Idris Elba giving my daughter praise to keep her head above water as she nears the end of the semester, and her workload threatens to drown her. Idris makes everything better.
Meanwhile, I'm writing a Netflix pitch with Eddie, and yesterday we remarked how it was good Showrunners wasn't filming in my house, as I yelled and swore, and clapped at our ideas, and she cackled on my sofa while drinking coffee and being the smartest woman in the room.
I told her my anxiety is gone, I've stopped waking at 4am, and my nails are long again, and that I knew my creativity was coming back because I felt like I might start a magazine or a record an album, of which I will do neither but the point is, my brain made space for those possibilities again.
Isn't life all about possibilities? And aren't we lucky if we have them?
I heard a man on the radio saying the best way to be happy is to stop trying to be happy. It's true. I had a moment today when I made my coffee, house of silent, heater on, and I walked to my desk, and as I was sitting down to write, I thought, well if this isn't happiness?
Because it's all those small moments that set us up for a happiness infusion. Or maybe it's that first sip of tea in the morning or the sip of tea after dinner. Perhaps it's the conversation with your kids during long car rides, or it's a hint of a pink envelope in the letterbox with your name handwritten on the front. Perhaps it's the nibble on your slippers from the rabbit, or the hint of bulb flowers rising from under the birch trees.
Maybe it's when you tick something off your list you didn't want to do, or when you decided to not take any more bullshit from fuckwits, or when you go to put something in the dishwasher and you see it's already been unpacked (that's a serious win)! Why can't that be happiness?
I talked with my painterly friend who has recovered from a nasty cancer in her gut. Everything is amazing and nobody is happy, was the gist of the conversation. We talked about anger and The Hobbit and turning demotivation into inspiration, and we decided we're both fucking mad, but happy, content, alive. Here.
But the money thing is hard. We want nice things but it doesn't always mean we get to do what we want and what our heart loves, because writing with Eddie on a pitch, spec for Netflix sounds amazing but it pays nada. So I guess I will not have nice things and instead, swathe myself in moments of happiness.