Tag Archives: happiness

How to be happy – a sidenote (via Today I’m happy…)

One of my goals this year is finding happiness in every day, and as part of that, I’m also providing some research, articles, thoughts, etc, on how to be happy on my other blog, DelightfullyHappy. Here is a post from yesterday, a recap of the Oprah show on happiness.

How to be happy - a sidenote What does it take to be happy?  Love?  Kids?  A good job?  Money?  Does what you do for a living make a difference?  What about where you live? This blog was started as a way to recognize happiness in every day, but I also intended to share snippets of wisdom, articles, and book reviews.  Today is the first of those “sidenotes.” Today, Oprah had Goldie Hawn on the show, and they were talking happiness.  It turned out to be a good all-around happi … Read More

via Today I’m happy…

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Delightfully Happy

“Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”  -Abraham Lincoln

As previously mentioned, I have made up my mind to be happy, about something, every day.  Even if it’s been a horrible day and I’m happy to be in bed!

I originally was going to do a twitter feed, but…well, read my last post.  Then I thought about doing it as part of my blog, but that’s a lot of posts.  Then I thought about doing a page on my blog, but that’s a long page come December.  Finally, I decided to do a post a week, listing out each day within the week.

Guess what?  I changed my mind again.  Hey, I get to do that!!  🙂

Introducing:  Delightfully Happy.  I’m still playing around with the theme, but it’s up and running (and properly backdated at this point). Take a look.  Tell me what you think.  Leave a note telling me why YOU’RE happy.

I hate twitter

 I’ve tried.  Honestly, over the past few years, I’ve tried.  I’ve opened two twitter accounts.  I simply don’t get it.  I feel really stupid, actually, because I really, really don’t get it.  I don’t get how to read it.  I don’t get how it’s fun.  I don’t get anything. 

Regardless of that, I was going to suffer through twitter for a year, as part of my 2011 goal to document something I’m happy about every day.  I posted something on January 1st.  Then I attempted to add the twitter feed to my blog sidebar.  And couldn’t do it.  After about five attempts, I gave up.  I don’t know if it’s a twitter thing, a wordpress thing, or user error, but regardless, the only reason I was doing twitter was to feed it onto my blog.  So I gave up.

I thought about doing it via a daily post (which would have qualified me for the wordpress post-a-day challenge), but there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to post every day, and besides, that’s a lot of needless, boring posts, IMO. 

So I was going to go with a 2011 Happiness Page on the blog, but that would be a really long page.

Instead, I’m going to do a post a week, and put it into the “2011 Happiness Project” category.  That means I have to be more diligent about remembering and/or writing it down each day, even if I can’t access a computer.  It’s not nearly as simple as a twitter feed would have been.

But I hate twitter.

This is it.

It’s not as easy as everyone thinks it is, as everyone expects it to be.  Getting over a betrayal is more brutal than the betrayal itself, if that’s possible.  At least the betrayal is only done once.  Getting over it involves going over it again and again in your head.  It’s like beating your head against a wall, or placing it under a car tire and putting the car in reverse, then back in drive, then back in reverse, then back in drive.  The entire course of the betrayal is remapped, again and again, in an attempt to figure out when things went awry, to figure out if you should have known.

There’s hurt.  Hurt that the person you loved, the person you thought loved you, could treat you so cruelly, could have so little respect for your feelings.

There’s anger.  At him.  At yourself.  The anger at yourself is actually the hardest to take.  You should have known.  You should have known. YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. How stupid could you possibly be?  How did you not know?  The signs were everywhere!  And you know everyone else is thinking the same thing – how could she not have known, the signs were there!

You have your days.  Good days, when you’re relatively okay.  Great days, when you’re happy and you don’t even think about him or it until you realize you haven’t thought about it.

Then there are the bad days.  The days when it eats at you, and you feel like you have holes in your gums, your esophagus, your stomach.  You feel like you really might throw up.  Your salivary glands actually start producing the sourness that indicates impending upchucking.

The bad days come less and less often, because that’s the way life works.  It moves on.  They (the ubiquitous they) often say that life moves on “with or without you,” but that’s not really accurate.  It can’t actually move on without you.  Even if you don’t want to move on, Life will still pull you along, like a recalcitrant puppy on a leash.  It pulls you until you forget that you don’t want to be dragged along, until something shiny captures your attention and makes you forget, even momentarily.  It’s therapeutic, in that way.  Life doesn’t care about you or me or what we are going through. It just moves along, a tornado, ripping this house apart, then veering like a drunk college student at Oktoberfest, leaving the house next to it completely unscathed.

That’s what I imagine he is – unscathed.  Going about his life, unencumbered by the hurt and pain he has caused, unperturbed by the lies that he told.  Not a care in the world, certainly not a care about the woman he led on for a year and a half.  A charmed life, happy-go-lucky.  That is, after all, his personality, and part of what I liked so much about him, even as it drove me crazy.

There’s the self-doubt.  Was it something I did?  Was I not good enough?  Does she have something I don’t?  Why did he choose her over me?  What’s wrong with ME?

***   ***  ***

I wrote that back in April, as part of a fiction piece I was working on.  Autobiographical?  You think??

I still have bad days, days like the ones described above.  I hate to say it, but almost every day when I pull into my condo I half expect to see his car, expect him to be there, waiting for me to get home.  Waiting to explain, to apologize.  I sometimes expect the phone to ring, and it to be him.  The doorbell rings, and I think, for half a second, that it might be him.

Am I still angry?  Yes.

Am I still hurt?  Yes.

Do I still want an apology?  Yes.

Do I still want an explanation?  Yes.

Am I ready to forgive?  The answer might surprise you.

I’ve had people ask me, “What would you do if he showed up and asked you to take him back?”  I wish I knew the answer to that.  My head, my pride, says that I’d say Hell No.  But I can’t deny there’s a part of me that wants what we had back.  Or, I should say, wants what I thought we had back.  I don’t deny that it would be a hard road; forgiveness would be a long time coming, trust even longer.  I hate myself for even thinking about it, but I can’t help it.  It goes deeper than loving him – it’s more about loving me when I was with him.  Loving the happiness he brought me, the way I felt when I was with him.  I felt different.  I felt like a better, happier person.

And I’m not saying better, happier than I am today.  That’s pretty obvious.  I’m saying better, happier than I ever was in any other relationship I’ve ever been in.  Better, happier, than I was in the past.

You know how they say love is like a mirror?  I saw myself, and I liked myself.  Even more to the point, I wanted to be a better person, for him.

***   ***   ***

The good memories:

  • We’d be sitting on the couch, watching TV, and he would bend his head down and just inhale – my hair, my skin.  He said he loved the way I smelled.
  • The feeling I would get when he walked in after a trip – I felt like the sun was bursting out of me.  Even on days when I would be mad at him for being late, he would walk down the stairs and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
  • The intellectual discussions we would have.
  • The stupid conversations we would have.
  • The random texts that let me know he was thinking about me.
  • The way we fit together so well, curled up in bed.  I don’t mean this in any sexual way – I mean, snuggling, we fit.  And he mentioned it all the time, remarking on how rare that was.
  • The way he loved everything I cooked and truly appreciated the effort I made, even though one time I made pork and he thought it was chicken.

The bad memories:

  • His habitual tardiness.
  • His inconsistent communication.

Obviously I’m not including the lies I didn’t know about, the cheating I didn’t know about, the hurt that was to come that I couldn’t foresee.

***   ***   ***

It’s hard, coming to terms with the fact that the person you loved never loved you.  I’ve been trying so hard to move on, but it’s not really something you can rush.  It’s not something you can bend to your timetable.  I wish it was.

Yes, there’s a part of me that wants him to read this and feel bad and finally grow a set and apologize to me.  Will that ever happen?  I don’t know.  I feel like if he were sorry, he’d tell me so.  And the fact that he hasn’t tells me he’s not sorry.  And that hurts.

I’ve wondered if the reason he hasn’t contacted me is because of Her, The Other Woman.  Maybe he’s worried that if he contacts me in any way, I would blog about it, and it would mess things up with her.  I’ve considered sending him a letter, c/o his friend, but really, what good would it do?  I don’t want to involve his friend any more than he’s already been involved, and besides, can you imagine what it would do to me if he still didn’t respond?

***   ***   ***

I’m getting it all out on this one, because I’m sick of just letting bits and pieces out.  I hope that in just letting the floodgates open and purging all of this, I will be done with it.  With that in mind, a couple of random things:

I was looking back through some blog stats recently.  Through wordpress, I can see search terms used to get to my blog, how many times a specific post is viewed, and, if someone links to my page from somewhere else, I can see where they come from (for example, if someone has me listed on their webpage, and someone clicks on that listing to get to me, it will show an incoming link from that webpage).  I noticed that the most visits I’ve ever had in one day was 191, on December 29th.  I figured that was The Pilot’s girlfriend viewing each and every one of my blog posts, since it was right about the time everything went down, and the day before she emailed me.  But then I noticed an interesting incoming link.  The incoming link was from a Facebook account.  The Pilot’s mother’s Facebook account, to be specific.  So evidently she knew about all this.  Which I found interesting.

You know that Lady Antebellum song “I Need You”?  I HATED it when it first came out, couldn’t stand to even hear it.  I recently realized that I wasn’t ready to admit the truth to myself.  “I wonder if I ever cross your mind?  For me it happens all the time.”  I feel that way entirely too often.

He asked me, in December, if I would move to Dubai with him if he got a job out there.  Literally a week before the shit hit the fan, he asked me that.  I told him I would, if we were married.  He nodded, as if he were taking it into consideration.  I feel so dumb for actually thinking that was a possibility.

***   ***   ***

What it comes down to is this:  I can’t come to terms with the fact that he cared so little for me.  I feel like, if I knew he felt bad, if I knew he regretted what he did to me, it might be better.  But I can’t say that’s the case.  Everything points to the fact that he cared nothing for me, that he lied to me, told me he loved me when he didn’t, purposely led me on and then dumped me.  Dumped me like he was taking out the trash.  And all of that is so…

Demeaning.  Humiliating.  It stripped me of my self-worth, my self-esteem, and I haven’t gotten that back yet.  And it’s hard to admit that someone could do that to me, that someone could have that much of an influence on my life.  Damnit, I am a strong, independent woman, and yet this sorry excuse for a man has essentially broken me.

What does it say about ME, that someone could do that to me?

There’s nothing worse than hating yourself.  And I hate myself for still loving him.

***   ***   ***

The bottom line:  I want to be able to stop thinking about it.  I want to make it stop defining my life.

This is it.  I’m done.  I genuinely hope that I never blog about The Pilot again, that he is only mentioned in passing, in the same way Soccer Guy and my Denver boyfriend have been.  If I do feel the need to blog about him again, I will make it a private post.  I know everyone is sick to death of hearing about this, and I know I’m sick of hearing the phrases, “You’re better off without him,” and “It will all work out,” and “Everything happens for a reason,” and “”You’ll find someone better,” and every other well-meaning words of wisdom/encouragement/kindness.  I know you all mean well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m sure you’re all sick of saying them.  So please don’t feel like you have to.

A final note to The Pilot, should he happen to read this, or should someone he knows happen to read this and want to forward it on:  If you cared anything for me, give me the chance to forgive you so I can move on.  Give me closure – I deserve that much, at least.  I know you ran into my friend, and it was mentioned that too much time has passed.  It hasn’t.  It’s not too late.

I want my own adventure

I saw this postcard on postsecret last Sunday, and of course it stood out.  Anything air travel related stands out to me.  But it didn’t really speak to me at the time, so I kept on scrolling through.

But the more I thought about it, the more it does speak to me, but not in the way it’s meant, I’m sure.

You see, over the last two or three weeks, I’ve been thinking.  It all started with my solo trip to the beach in April, and how wonderful it was, just me and the waves.  And I decided that I was going to go to the beach every year for my birthday, not necessarily alone, but I would definitely try to go alone.  My friend mentioned Belize, and when I looked it up, I couldn’t believe how cheap it was (as long as I didn’t mind not having a suite). 

So I decided on Belize, next April, sometime around my birthday.

I’ve always been against traveling alone, for several reasons.  It really has nothing to do with me not wanting to be alone.  I don’t mind being alone.  Part of it was a safety issue – a single, not-unattractive woman, traveling alone in a foreign country, possibly (probably) unable to speak the language, doesn’t seem especially safe.  I know other women have done it, but, I’ll admit, I was a little scared.  The other part of it is that I never seem to enjoy certain things as much as when there’s someone to share it with.  A beautiful view is wonderful, but when you can remember it with someone months, years later, that makes it even better, I think.  Part of travel is the funny and memorable stories that come out of it, and if you don’t have someone to share it with, it’s not quite as special.

But the thought of going to Belize by myself made me…happy.  Excited.  Calm and content.  And then I thought, where else do I want to go?  France.  Italy.  Greece.  Iceland.  Peru.  Turkey.  India.  Indonesia.  Egypt.  Germany.  And many, many more places. 

And, with only a few exceptions (India, Egypt, Turkey), I feel perfectly comfortable with the idea of traveling alone.

I’m done waiting for someone to travel with.  I’m done with my life on hold.

My plan right now is Belize in April, Cabo for whale watching in Q1 2012, Peru at the end of summer 2012, and France in Spring 2013.  Plus, I need to make it to Chicago and DC sometime in the next year or two. 

Anyway, to get back to the postcard.  I’m obviously no longer in a relationship with a pilot.  Being with The Pilot didn’t spark my desire for adventure any more than it was already sparked.

But what he put me through, the issues I’ve dealt with, the personal hell I’ve been through in the last seven months? 

Well, if this were my postcard, it might say, “Being with a pilot wasn’t a romantic adventure, but the rest of my life will be.”

Maybe that’s the life changer that came from that relationship.

Oh Happy Day

What a difference a couple of days make.

Maybe it was PMS.

Maybe it was the three glasses of white wine I had that night (white wine tends to make me emotional).

Maybe it was the dam finally breaking.

I was trying so hard to not write about The Pilot and what I was going through, because I didn’t want this blog to be All About Him. But I still needed that release, and I wasn’t really getting it. I had intended to make my last post a private post, but obviously it didn’t happen that way. And I’m okay with that. Because this blog has always been about being my source of therapy, and I obviously needed to get some stuff out. And between letting it out, finally, and people leaving comments and certain things finally registering in my head, I really feel better now. I’ve gone two whole days without tearing up in the car. I saw a plane coming in for landing yesterday and it didn’t completely rip me apart. I’m breathing a bit easier. I noticed that I don’t think about him until I realize I haven’t thought about him. Today, for the first time in a VERY long time, I was happy. I mean, blissful, permanent smile, dancing in my chair, annoyingly, nothing can get me down HAPPY. And it felt good. No, scratch that.

It felt AMAZING.

My coworkers were laughing at me, wondering if I had smoked something at lunch (which I don’t do), asking what was wrong with me. Maybe the correct question is, What is RIGHT with me, finally?

Spring is here, the weather is beautiful, and today is another new beginning. However, I can’t promise I won’t ever again discuss “The Winter of My Discontent.” I can hope not to, but I can’t guarantee anything.

To all of you who have been by my side in action, thought, and comment over the last few months, thank you so much. I appreciate all of you more than you know.

To Better Things-