Sometimes you have to go looking for it....

There have been a few times in the past couple of years when I've tried to remember the last time I felt happy and couldn't do it. It makes me sad just to say that, to say that I had no memory of those moments when you stop and suddenly realize, "I am happy." I could say I was surviving, that I was getting by, that I was making it through the day, that I was productive, that I carried on, that I kept my chin up...but happy?

A few weeks ago I was talking to my BFF from back home and recalling going home for the holidays, how wonderful it felt to be with my family and friends, how great I slept in my mom's guest room, how loved I felt. And when I returned home, after a two-day drive, to my roommate packing up to stay the night at her daughter's house (it was New Year's Eve) and how I had to hold back shrieks of pure joy that I was going to have the house to myself and a quiet night and a shower and clean sheets and my cat and my dog curled up in my warm bed...and I realized it was JULY and the last time I could remember being happy was in fucking JANUARY (well, technically December 31). It made me sad, but before the pity could kick in, I took a giant step back and asked myself, "have you been looking?"

I hadn't. I'd been so consumed with surviving that I was failing to thrive. In pediatric medicine, this is something infants can die from: failure to thrive. It can also be applied to adults, mostly geriatric. I wondered when I became such a grown up that I forgot to look for the joy. One doesn't need freedom from worry to be happy - or money, or the perfect job, or any job, or confidence, or all of the other things on my crazy mental checklist that I waited for so I could finally thrive again.

Granted, in the past couple of months I have been able to cross a few things off that list. I have a roommate to take some of the pressure of the bills off and a new job that I really like, which means a regular paycheck every two weeks. But I was still holding back, still denying myself, still insisting on frugality, refusing to spend a penny on anything I deemed "unnecessary."

Last Saturday, I went to lunch with the roommate and a friend and we stopped at a big box store afterward so the roommate could return something. I found myself wandering the school supplies aisles with my friend, exclaiming over pencil cases and notebooks and gel pens. I had a wonderful sense memory smelling a box of crayons. I remembered that the best thing about the new school year when I was a kid was the new school supplies: a brand new notebook, pens, pencils, a binder (or if I was lucky, a Trapper Keeper, pink - and damn, do they make cooler ones now), paper and dividers and pencil cases. And the waxy smell of crayons.

Standing there, in the middle of rows and rows of Hello Kitty notebooks and pencil sharpeners and multi-packs of pens and wide-ruled filler paper, I realized this was me being happy. Feeling joy. Remembering the possibilities that came with a new school year. Thinking about the possibilities that lie ahead of me now. And I bought that box of crayons. Even if I never use them, I am going to keep them on my desk at home to remind me of what possibility really feels like. Possibility smells like a new box of crayons.

Resolutions...

For the past 10 years or so, I've always made a "mega list" of New Year's Resolutions. For example, in 2002, I made 102 micro-resolutions. In 2004, I made 104. I wasn't the only one...there's a whole community of people who break their resolutions down into categories and smaller, more manageable increments. I also created titles ("Get it Done in 2001") for each list, printed them out, and carried them with me in my day planner. I even highlighted each item as it was accomplished. Cleaning out some files (one of my resolutions) earlier this week in my desk, I came across 10 printed out lists from the past 10 years. Frankly, it just made me tired. If I stuck to the old pattern, this year, that means I would have to make 111 resolutions. Not going to happen.

I was thrilled to find these old lists, not just for entertainment value (in 2011, one of my resolutions was "don't leave the house without makeup." Another: "Watch less TV."), but also because I realized that they served a purpose, but it's one I no longer need. Every year, I included "read one book a week." Done. The wearing makeup thing? I now live in Austin. I go to the grocery store in my pajamas and often spend days without makeup. Another amusement: Every single list had "fall in love." I did that one year; it didn't quite work out. Also, I don't think that's the kind of thing you can put on a check list. The coolest thing is that some of the resolutions I thought were long shots actually happened: I published a book in 2008. I made a huge change in my life when I moved to Austin (just passed my one year anniversary here!). I got a literary agent and a publicist. I became my own publicist. I matured emotionally, have been able to let down some of those walls, and I tell people I love them all the time - whether they say it back or not. I finally read Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead (thanks to some prompting from Aleigh). And they did change my life, or at least the way I perceive things in my life.

For 2011, I've decided to keep my list in my head. Or maybe here. But there won't be 111. I want to live in the moment. I want to be happy (I am). I want to be more social (working on it). I want to find a day job that I love so much I'd do it for free. I want to lose 25 lbs. I want to finish my second book. I want to buy some plants. But since I live in Austin now, as a tribute, I'm going to go with the flow, add resolutions as they come up, and let the Universe point me in the right direction. Maybe this year, not having a printed, rigid list will be an asset. I'm calling my 2011 list "Subject to Change." Which reminds me: Add "stop trying to control every aspect of your life."