'H' is for ... Happiness

Are you happy?

What makes you truly happy?

It’s a question I ask myself a lot these days. We’re looking forward to Easter and wishing a Happy Easter to everyone. Every year we’re wished a Happy Birthday, Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year. But I’m not entirely sure what happiness is any more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy. Some of the time. But living with chronic illness and pain day in day out tends to dull the sparkle from you.

There was a time in my mid-twenties when I was so happy I thought I would burst. Someone I once worked with said I like a breath of fresh air. I wonder if they'd think the same if they could see me now. Being the kind of glass half full type, I try to remain cheery despite spending much of the time being frustrated because my body won't always do what I want it to do. And being a perfectionist doesn’t help. I read an interview with John Cleese a while back. In it he mentioned how being a perfectionist meant he was never completely happy and I understood what he meant by that. When I decided 'H' was for Happiness in the challenge, I asked myself what makes me happy. Not surprisingly, it raised rather a lot of questions;

- Can you ever be truly happy when you live with chronic illness and pain?
- We tend to be happy when we’re in love. But does that mean another person can make you happy, or do you have to do that all by yourself?
- Are we happier when we’re children? And if so, does that mean old folks aren’t happy?
- I look at people worse off than myself and ask what have I got to moan about? I have two wonderful boys, a loving husband, beautiful home, brilliant friends… and much more. Some people are never happy or fulfilled and I don’t intend to turn into one of those.

It’s only human to want to be happy but over the years I’ve learn to accept that on occasions unhappiness is a part of life. What I refuse to do is let it move in forever. Living with chronic illness, it’s unrealistic to expect to be happy every day and here's how I've coped:

- I tell myself pain is there for a reason, like a warning. Nature is very clever when she’s not being a pig. Nature defines we’re not supposed to be happy during physical pain but we can have the strength of endurance and look forward to feeling better. So when I’m in the midst of a flare up, I’m kind to myself and tell myself it won’t last forever. And when I’m feeling better I’ll do such and such.
- I’ve learnt to ‘use’ the good days – along the lines of ‘make hay while the sun shines.’
- Perhaps most significant, I’ve discovered how to embrace my pain and condition – this ‘lodger’ of mine – a kind of making my peace with it. It has taken a long time to reach this point.
- I find happiness in the simple things - listening to the rain, watching the boys bounce on the trampoline, eating Bailey’s ice cream - a bit like those endorphins I mentioned in my ‘E’ is for Exercise Blog, the feel good hormones kick in when we’re working our bodies and endorphins play a big part in feeling good and being happy.
When I went to the Easter service at my son’s school on Thursday, I can’t tell you how happy I felt during and after watching their little beaming faces as they told us the Easter story and singing the Spring Chicken song. It was pure joy.
- After spending time looking inwards, I have found in spite of my health problems there are some things I can do that make me happy. I was devastated when I had to retire aged only 32 but after I left the bank, I tried running a little craft business to fill the gap. Then when my health got the better of that too, I started writing. You have to keep going to find the thing you like (and are able) to do. For me, I found writing is a significant thing besides my family and friends that makes me happy and feel fulfilled.

So if you are struggling to find happiness, perhaps ask yourself sometime; what is the one thing you would really like to do? Often it’s something you have thought about for a long time, perhaps even since you were a child but never thought you could/should do it.

You might find that gives you the fulfilment, joy and happiness you have been looking for.

Happiness, like thoughts, our incentive and creativity are born within, and can only come from somewhere deeply imbedded within each of us. And happiness isn’t a gift we receive from someone else, it’s a present we give ourselves.

I will leave you with this thought; something my Nan was forever telling me when I was a little girl. ‘Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone.’ The full version is at the end of the post.

And if all else fails, watch this It can't fail to make you happy!

So until another day
Bye for now
Xx

Solitude
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.


Ella Wheeler Wilcox

The last swallow. The end of summer

A bird dive bombed our barn window yesterday as I stood doing the ironing. It’s a common occurrence up here on the hill; birds disorientated by the trickery of light from changing skies, that or being chased by Bobby, our ten month kitten as he hones his hunting skills.

I dashed out to see whether (as is often the case) the bird was simply stunned. A swallow with a slightly dull metallic blue jacket and tail streamers lay twitching on the decking. The absence of the usual russet colouring told me it was a juvenile, probably from next doors field shelter which is onto the third clutch. It would never have made it in time to migrate with the others anyway.

Most of the swallows departed a couple of weeks ago, two weeks earlier than last year. As they prepared for their journey to warmer climes, I knew there would be no Indian summer. The air thronged with their song; a rambling warble of trills and twitters, reminiscent of radio interference. Large flocks perched on wires and practised their aerial acrobatics, circling gracefully overhead and swooping low over the garden and fields in front, entertaining us one last time.

Meanwhile, the only flutter from the swallow in my hand was from the breeze which fanned its feathers. His head hung downwards. I waited a couple of minutes but nothing. Even Bobby, who had been smarming expectantly against my legs rolled his eyes, flicked his tail in disgust and stropped away in the direction of the blue tits chirruping over the buddleia, eager for more action.

The swallow had died and with it, in the blink of an eye, the last of summer disappeared. What a summer it has been...

It’s a blog all of it’s own, and a very long story but this summer I found two sisters whom I have never met. Until a few years ago, they didn't even know I existed. They say truth is stranger than fiction. You couldn’t write my life story. No-one would believe it.

I’ll always remember it as the summer that Idle Jack became a man. We found out at the end of last term that he had been skipping lessons. He even missed an exam.

His year at college was supposed to be re-taking the GCSE’s he'd failed at school.Instead, he spent a year doing nothing, or nothing to do with enhancing his education. We’d had enough. Having tried everything; positive parenting, grounding him, withdrawing privileges, it was time for tough love. And it was tough.

We told him we wouldn’t support him to go back to college - it was time to get in the real world; get a job. We suggested an apprenticeship; Trainee chef. He would always find work as a chef; he could go on a cruise ship once he qualified, maybe travel the world. The girls all love a chef.

He resisted, of course. He came back from his first apprenticeship interview regaling us with how it had gone, how the head chef had praised him, the questions he’d been asked and how grateful he was that I’d helped him with his interview technique. The following day while he was out, I had a phone call. It was the manager of the restaurant, ringing to re-arrange the appointment my son had cancelled due to a family crisis.

Oh, there was a family crisis that night, I can tell you. My son, Idle Jack - now Walter Mitty.

I drove him to his next interview and sat outside, waiting for him.

“They said I did really well,” he gushed, as he came out after only ten minutes. “And they want to offer me the job. I have to ring them tomorrow to let them know whether I’d like it or not.”

I ask you. In today’s economic climate. I still don’t understand what he was thinking.

Needless to say, he didn’t have time to take his shirt and tie off when he got home before I made him ring them back to graciously accept their kind offer.

It was the right decision. A couple of weeks after starting the apprenticeship it was GCSE results day. This was one occasion when I would have been happy to be proved wrong. But I wasn’t. Eldest son failed all his re-takes. It had indeed been a wasted year.

Academia isn’t for everyone, I told him, putting on my best positive voice. This summer he’d turned it around; he’d got himself on an apprenticeship - a worthwhile career plan - in a couple of year’s time when all his friends are leaving college and Uni looking for a job, he’ll have the advantage.

Six weeks into the job, I’m beginning to think I might have to change his nickname. I can’t exactly keep calling him Idle Jack when he works in a kitchen from 10am until 10pm, on split shifts.

But in true Jane Austen (and Helen Fielding) style it is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces. As hubby and Son No 1 ride off into the sunset in gainful employment my next set of life challenges spring up as sure as night turns to day.

With major surgery knocking at my door, my youngest son has to see a Rheumatoid Paediatrician tomorrow. He keeps getting deep necrotic ulcers in his mouth and after several appointments with Paediatricians and numerous blood tests the worry is, he may be showing signs of developing my Behcets disease – certainly, his immune system seems to have been compromised.

It’s another worry, to add to the many. But then that is life, full of ups and downs. Seasons change. Some are harder than others.

For our house, the summer has gone, along with the swallows, winging their way for winter in South Africa.

We’re off too – not emigrating, but we’re going to the Caribbean on Tuesday for some sun, fun and relaxation.

After the summer we've had, we need it.

So until another day

xx