Happiness

Happiness is really bad for one's blogging.

When you're mad at the world, you have plenty to blog about.  Blog about how terrible the government is.  Blog about how stupid everyone around you is.  Blog about how stupid the government is.  Blog about what you had for dinner, the people at work, the injustice you were dealt at the McDonald's drive-thru (that's pretty self-inflicted).  Blog about the corrupt government.  Did I mention complaining about the government?  When you're angry, you have something to say--and you're desperate for anyone to hear it.

When you're happy, there's not that much to say.  My cousin's wife titled her blog "I thank my Jesus for the daisies and the roses" and she has two blog entries for the entire year of 2009.  She's been blogging since 2004, and the most she's blogged in a year has been 52 entries (2007).  I published more entries than that in September.  I'm very happy for her--but it's not the greatest blog ever.  :)  I only mention it because I am becoming more like her.  I'm just too happy to blog like I have in the past.

What am I so happy about?  Giving up.

I gave up on trying to find new music that I like.  I've been listening exclusively to the same two artists (a grand total of four albums) for a month now.  The repetition should be driving me nuts, but these are the songs I really really love.

I gave up on girls.  Sorry ladies, but you take too much energy.  I guess I've been on one too many terrible dates and had one too many commitaphobia attacks.  I finally accepted that single life is okay, and it turns out that I actually enjoy it.  It's not like I am against relationships--I'm just leaving all my give-a-crap at home.

I gave up on the career ladder.  Sure, I would like to make more money--who wouldn't?  But that's just it.  Nobody thinks they have enough money.  There's only one conclusion: it's not about money.  I'm broke, you're broke, everybody's broke.  Yet, somehow, we all have enough money for all the stupid crap that we think we "need."  It turns out, I love my job.  I'm incredibly good at it--just ask one of my customers.  The company's ethos is such that we actually treat one another like human beings.  This translates into a ridiculous amount of flexibility and consideration: we're people first, employees second.  You can't buy that.

I gave up on trying to fit some monstrosity of social expectations.  I know in my head that at my age I'm supposed to have a wife, two kids (a boy and a girl), drive a Ford Enormous, live in a sparkling boring house in a picture-perfect "Desperate Housewives"-type neighborhood with a bunch of dim-witted neighbors with a well-behaved dog and a scarcely-seen cat.  I'm supposed to go to the barber once a month, church once a week, and the gym once a day.  I should be counting calories and balancing my checkbook.  Screw it.  It's not that I wasn't dealt that hand; I'm not even playing with that deck of cards. 

I gave up on keeping up with you.  Your house is nicer than mine.  You have more things than me.  Your job is better than mine, your spouse is smarter, your dog is better-trained, your car is newer, your food is tastier.  You have a better physique, brighter future, better hair, and straighter teeth.  I'm totally good with that.

Regardless of how picture-perfect or completely discombobulated my life looks or feels, at the end of it I'm not taking any of this stuff with me.  When this thing is done, how was it?  Did I leave the planet better off than I found it?  Did I simply profess faith in love and joy from God, or did I actually experience it and share it?  Did I enjoy the journey, or did I just put on the cruise control and daydream of the destination?

I'm pretty sure life isn't a competition.  Just in case it is...I'm winning.