Real Talk: Being Happy Is Scary
I feel like I have read a hundred times in a hundred different places that writers do their best work when they are depressed. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this isn't how it should be.
But I'm also going to tell you that the past six months or so have been some of the happiest months of my life, yet they have been the hardest for me in terms of writing. Why is that?
I'm starting to think that it's because being happy is scary.
Instead of being filled with my normal self-depricating humor, I've been overwhelmingly satisfied with my life... which has meant that my sassy, off the cuff writing just hasn't been flowing the same. Instead of writing about how much fuckboys suck, I'm thinking about how deeply soul-satisfying it is to have a partner that you can depend on. Instead of writing about whatever craziness is unfolding in life, I'm thinking about how excited I am about the pepper plants that Miller and I are growing and the Kombucha that we are fermenting right now.
All of this is astoundingly wonderful and if I am being honest, it is also terrifying.
I am a person that generally waits for the other shoe to drop. Which means that when things are going great I am lightly, to moderately, to majorly anxious about what shitty thing is going to happen around the corner.
Happiness is scary, because opening yourself up to fully experience the joy means opening yourself up to the possibility of being hurt. It opens you up to the possibility of watching your life destabilize.
If I'm being completely honest I've been scared to write from the shiny, bubbly, happy place that I've been living in. What if you all don't like me when I'm happy? What if this crashes and burns and I have to go back and look at the words I have scattered across the internet full of love and hope?
I think we all want to be happy. In fact, I know that we do. Deep down in our hearts (even in the most sinicle of us, read: me) we all want to be satisfied and to be loved. We just have to learn how to embrace it when it arrives.
So here I am, happy. The peppers are planted on the porch and the Kombucha is brewing in the kitchen. I'm falling asleep entwined in the arms of a human that makes me smile. I'm day dreaming about trips around the world. I'm learning how to write from this bubble.
It isn't easy, but it is getting easier. It is, however, worth it.