“I read recently that there is this obsession with ‘finding’ and ‘achieving’ happiness as a destination or some kind of permanent state and that idea sets us up for failure. Because happiness comes in moments that we pass through. Often fleetingly. The key is to notice them. I rarely do. I want to try to more.”
I spotted the above quote on my Instagram feed last week. It came from Mia Freedman, who has been my boss twice over the years, once at Cosmopolitan magazine (where I was her deputy editor) and once at Mamamia (where I was one of her digital editors). We’re not in contact any more, but our social media connections live on.
Mia is a smart woman and I agree with her on this one. I am always careful, for example, not to say that I want my children to be “happy” – that is a unrealistic expectation. I want them to know many moments of happiness in their lives.
And I want the same for myself. DD reckons my happiness has taken a bit of a hit over the past two years. There are many reasons why this might be, from life stage to health issues to parenting challenges to workplace trauma.
I am not making any promises about 2021, because she seems like a bit of a bitch already, but I will try and do the same as Mia and notice the happy moments more.
There were some very happy moments over the sweltering long weekend, including going for lots of ocean swims, enjoying Sunday night drinks with three of DD’s friends on his deck, eating corn cakes at a beachside cafe in Bilgola, laughing at all the Bernie Sanders memes and having a pre-Australia Day spa with prosecco at my sister’s place.
And I suppose you can even classify DD syringing my ears as a happy moment. He must really love me because it’s a very gross task. I’ve been quite deaf in one ear for weeks, so he was concentrating on clearing that one, but not much was coming out so he thought he’d give the “good” ear a go. Within seconds you could have sworn he’d dredged a muddy swamp bottom. It was dis-gusting.
Just be thankful I didn’t take a photo because you’d never look at me quite the same way again … but hopefully DD still does.
Oh, and speaking of disgusting. The youngest texted me yesterday to say there were … wait for it … maggots in the dishwasher. There’s a message you never want to see on your phone. This is a long story, so bear with me before making judgements about my homemaking skills.
Anyways, so the eldest got a tongue piercing on Saturday and has been unable to talk or eat much ever since. That’s a whole other story, so let’s focus on the wrigglers for now.
I hadn’t noticed that some scrambled eggs had been sitting in a bowl in the sink for a day or two because I’d been too busy going swimming on the Northern Beaches. I distractedly scraped them into the bin and popped the bowl into the dishwasher, but as it was only half full, I didn’t turn it on and, combined with the most hideous of heatwaves, the result was …: argh … maggots.
This really isn’t a blog post for the faint of stomach. I think I’d better go now …
Song of the day: Fine Young Cannibals “Good thing”