It's more than content - it's happy.
Happy. It hasn't been around in my life for most of experience. There've been moments, sure. Days long. But not more than that before the world came back crashing in, with the demands of daily life, the trials and tribulations. But long, extended periods of happy? Not really.
As a child, I survived the neglect of my father and the abuse of my brother. I took solace in the company and strength of my mother and her friends. I found love with her and with my family's pets - dogs, cats, peacocks, pheasants, smaller tropical exotic birds. In my teens, I was too shy for my own good, too afraid of my brother to ask friends over. Too many times so-called friends played the clique games of shunning other friends - "it's either us or
her." Invariably, I chose the immediate
her to anyone who could be so cruel as to exclude someone based on her skin color or body weight. By the time I was 16, that pattern was set, and I was one of the ignored in high school. Not a trouble maker, not an ace student, no cheerleadering or sports or anything. I just went to school, marched with the band, that was it.
Early adulthood was achieved in the Air Force: I earned a (tiny) paycheck, focused on doing my job and having a good time. And a good time was certainly there. But happy? I don't think I thought about it; I just wanted to contribute, be part of something larger. I learned not to be so shy, that I could do anything, that I was smart.
Marriage ended
that. The first months were good, but then I made the mistake of letting my husband know that he
had me. Once he knew that, our lives went from one of shared activities and friends to different paths. Neither of us should have married - we were far too young and stupid. But we had, and so we stuck together. Which made my 20s and early 30s okay, but not happy. Certainly not happy. The best part of those 11 years was our - my - dog. That's where I got the love and support I needed. It was a hard daily reality that I was married but very alone and lonely.
Took a long time for me to realize that what he'd done to me was destroy my belief in myself and my abilities, intelligence and skills. I took what he did, and did what I'd learned as a child: I'd blamed myself for his actions. Not uncommon, but not happy making either.
What made me happy in those years was my darling dog and going to school. At school I could stretch my mind, challenge myself, and prove - with every A - that I was of value and had something not everybody had.
Divorce: not happy, but at least free. Alone, lonely - but no longer inside a toxic relationship, no longer beating myself with his neglect and abuse.
Grad school: oh wow, so not happy. Challenging, good for me, filled with new friends and new experiences? Absolutely. Happy? No.
Paris: oh wow, so not happy. Challenging, good for me, filled with new friends and new experiences? Absolutely. Happy? I was there 4 years, and no, they weren't happy. Pockets here and there of happy - the friends and experiences of being in a couple of communities (ex-pat, feminist, English teachers) brought happiness. I found myself there - shed the 'shoulds' of my teens-thirties - and created a me that I really liked. I wrote constantly - 70-100 pages of long-hand a day. I poured out my pain and fear and loneliness and joy and pleasures. Then France voted in a right-wing government, and they threw me out.
Back in the USA: oh, soooooo not happy. But a couple of years of real depression was finally diagnosed and I began treatment - and happy came back in dribs and drabs. Too much drama and trauma. Another round of grad school - drama, trauma - and some real pleasure in developing teaching and research skills. Lots of writing again. Finished the PhD. Got a tenure-track job. And from day one, was aware that 'my' university didn't really value what we were doing.
Family drama and trauma. Days of pleasure and joy countered by months of worry, conflict and pain. Friends helped me survive the re-entry of my brother into my life - the trauma of his idiocy and cruelty. Once again I found love and support with my animals and friends. The loss of my mom in 2009 was awful and still hurts, although it's not as raw. She didn't die until 2011, but by 2009 she'd moved deep into a dementia that kept her from knowing who I was, and that was ... hard.
The career: moments of brilliance and joy in teaching, reaching students and changing lives. Challenging myself every term to freshen and reinvent classes, approaches, assignments. Friends and animals provided the support and affection. Loneliness visited all too often, as did true happiness.
After 2011, I got a degree of financial stability I never expected. And that eliminated a source of constant pressure and worry - opened up some opportunities to explore the world in new ways. And honoring my mom, I took advantage of those opportunities. Happy became more possible more frequently.
Which came crashing down around my ears in 2014, when The Bitch set out to destroy me. I survived that, but my god, it was a hard hard year. She undermined my career at Unnamed University, and once again friends were my sustenance. I can't count the times I cried into the necks of my beloved animals, the days I spent hiding from caring friends who sought to assure me that anyone who knew me would understand that the charges against me were absurd. Happy made a short appearance during the summer of 2014 during some amazing trips - predictably away from my normal world.
The last year at UU was an extended period of cynicism and
schadenfreude as I watched UU's poor planning and policies come home to roost. Knowing (but not sharing) that I was leaving at the end of the year made it easier to stand outside the disaster, to keep it at an emotional distance. Happy? Not hardly - but as the weeks went by I was able to feel less loss and more relief.
Now? My last day at UU was graduation day, the first week of May. This is 3 months out - and in the past two months I've been happier for longer than I can ever remember. Retirement has meant no connections with UU. Moving to a beautiful place, with salt water and beaches close. I can be on these beaches within 5 minutes.
And I have mountains!
I don't have the BS that UU is dishing out (still). I don't have to listen to the right-wing rhetoric of Unnamed State, which seemed with each passing day, to weigh more and more heavily on me. Washington is saner. At least, I'm not as wired into the craziness of the place (yet and with luck, ever).
My daily living is amazing. I'm happy all the time, not just now and then for short periods. This is amazing. Just. Flipping. Amazing. Imagine what I'll be like when I get my books unpacked!
NB: Happiness is not conducive to writing. Weird, eh?
I love this life. It's really so cool; and apparently, really bad for writing impulses. I generally have no idea what day it is, and time means very little. My dogs tell me when it's nearing 5 PM - their dinner time - but that's pretty much the only trigger around here. There's no getting up for classes, no rushing around to fit everything in. It's quite lovely and feels indulgent.
