Dear Kid,
When I woke up next to you today, there was something in the
air. And no, I don’t mean your pee, although you seem to be watering our sleeping
space as if it were more of a flower bed than an actual one these past few
weeks. And in the midst of doing our routine morning stretches, you carousing
around our personal space as if you had the whole floor at your disposal and me
closing my eyes, in hopes to catch a few seconds of aloneness, you suddenly ask
me, ‘Mom, are you happy with me?’
I’m sure you must’ve found just reason in your mind to have
had asked the question. But Oh Gawd. Oh no. Oh Dear. And just plain Oh. Please,
kid, for the love of all things good, true and delectable, please don’t ask anyone
that. Don’t give them the privilege of thinking your happiness is dependent on
them. Don’t make them think for a second that happiness is something that is
pegged on a thing, an ambition, an ideal or even a person.
You see, I don’ know if I’ve told you this already, but here’s
a little secret, happiness? That concept that’s been so over sensationalized? Well,
it’s pliant. It’s not pegged on anything.
What we want is never simple. Sometimes what we think we
want doesn’t really exist. And what we think we didn’t want, does. When we thought we wanted white picket fences,
we’re given the world of flight instead. When we want poetry, we’re given
prose. And when we thought we wanted admiration, we’re given respect instead. Happiness
is never black and white. It’s all around. It’s a sensation. Not a currency. It
shouldn’t rely on anyone or anything.
But it was my fault partially, I think. Once or twice I may
have asked you if you were. Happy, I mean. With the good intentions of someone
who wanted validation that yes, she’s going in the right direction. All is
well. Bring in the sunshine and rainbows. But I realized, I should soap mouths,
both yours and mine, for constantly looking for confirmation.
Let’s stop asking, okay? Let’s just be.
