Happiness

Last week we’d have celebrated our 65th wedding anniversary.  The day passed quietly, but since then, I’ve been thinking about him and what a gentle, caring man he was.  I often blamed him for not being more romantic,  but looking back I f wonder how much of the fault was my own, because I didn’t have the courage to teach him how to step outside his somewhat staid Germanic background to dance with me in the moonlight or skinny dip in our little swimming pool.  It can be so easy to blame the other for our own lack of courage.

I just finished reading a delightful little book entitled The Little French Bistro by Nina George.  Perhaps it is my growing zest for life following my serious illness this past May, but I am feeling very nostalgic and wishing I could tell him just how grateful I am for the life he gave me.   Like RBG’s husband, he was the one who made my life possible.  He was the one willing to stay in the background so that I might shine.  How does one say thank you for such a precious gift?

The Little French Bistro is a book written especially for women as it tells the story of Mariane, who feels so overwhelmed by her loveless marriage that she jumps into the Seine River, longing for the release of death, only to be saved by a homeless man.  For weeks, she plans on committing suicide, but life keeps intervening until she finds this little village in Breton where she makes friends and discovers the joy of being herself.  

Of course, the book is filled with romance and whimsy, but it nevertheless calls us to be true to ourselves, to dare to dream and become the person we not only long to be but were created to be.  It’s so tempting to stifle our impulses because we fear disapproval, shame, etc.  But oh the freedom of love and grace,  of allowing ourselves to be silly, daring, creative, love and be loved…not just by a beloved partner but by friends, family, the neighborhood cat, our gardens, music, whatever.  

The book made me appreciate my husband, my unromantic, quiet, nondemonstrative husband who often left me feeling unfulfilled until I, much too late, recognized that he had sacrificed much of himself so that I might be freed to fly.  How does one repay such a gift except by giving others that same permission?  That wonderful principle of passing it forward.

Monday I walked in the rain to have my hair done.  People worried about this old woman walking along the street, splashing in puddles,  a cane in one hand and an umbrella in the other, but I was happy.  It’s been so dry that the raindrops felt like fairy kisses on my face and arms.  And it brought back memories of playing in the rain during Hurricane Agnes back in the early 70’s.  I was at a writer’s conference and found a companion who was willing to release her inner child with me so we could run and slide and dance in the rain!   It was wonderful.  

It is easy to blame others for our unhappiness, but ultimately, we are responsible for our joys and sorrows.  Yes, life is filled with pain and trauma, but we are still the ones who limit ourselves by clinging to our pain as if it is our salvation rather than embracing the joy and freedom that comes with forgiveness.  Why, I wonder, are we so afraid of being truly happy?   If at this stage of life, I understand anything about the nature of the Divine, it is that our Creator longs for us to be filled with joy and gratitude, to revel in this beautiful world He has given us, especially when everything seems to be falling apart around us. What, after all, is the sacrifice of praise if it isn’t letting go of all that negativity that prevents us from sharing the breath of God?  In the grace of gratitude?  The Fullness of loving and being loved?