“Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be.” -- Abraham Lincoln
Wow, no wonder they called him Honest Abe. Because, let’s be honest, happy is a choice. I know that I spent far too many years with pockets of happy, but more time telling myself I’d be happy when:
I hit a certain number on the scale.
And even as I hit goal after goal, the “happy” was often still an arms-length away. It took 12-step for me to realize that happy isn’t a destination, it’s a choice. It’s something that rides with you on the journey, but only if you remember to pack it first.
I also realized that I wasn’t allowing myself to be happy. Why? Fear, plain and simple.
I was afraid that if I admitted I was happy, then the happy would slip away like water through a sieve. And, deep down, I thought all I deserved WAS a sieve.
Now I see that my life, my happy, is a bucket that I choose every day. I choose what I put in there and I choose what needs to go.
I choose to fill the bucket up every day, all day if I have to, no matter what is going on around me. And, best of all, the bucket can expand as needed, so there is no way for there not to be enough room for all the happy that can fit in it.
Last year, I forgot all this. I forgot that the bucket in the corner wasn’t going to fill itself. I had to do the work. I had to reach for it every day and I had to actively put things in it.
I had to allow things to go into it. And I had to have the courage to say, “Sorry, you don’t get to be in the bucket.”
I had to have the courage to choose my happy... and to wake up every day and choose it all ALL OVER AGAIN... EVERY... DAY.
