Today felt like any ordinary day, one where I would focus on the pockets of joy that I had to manufacture, tediously, but consciously, on a daily, not to drown in the weight of the unidentified deep rooted sorrow and confusion that inhabited my heart and the gloom that accompanied my hypersensitivity. I had decided on such a goal a few weeks prior, after plummeting into uncontrollable emotional purging, that manifested itself in the form of droplets trickling the long side my cheeks, for what felt like an eternity, but what was approximately 7 hours, where my skin eroded from the acidity, and leaving my face with tiny pink excavations my tears had inadvertently dedicated themselves to. I had been wrecked by yet another episode of - what I can only name now, being out of it - Life.
It felt simpler that way, to look at life mostly as overwhelming and sorrowful, with instances of glee, than it did to be reminded that some people were dealt cards where their baseline resided in happiness, while mine was largely rooted in despair. It helped to not compare myself, but instead to stay on track with my path. Where to most, happiness was found in the mere breath that came with being. Happiness was to me, as scarce a resource as they were. I did not find it in abundance within the natural world, but rather had to consciously dedicate myself to creating it.
Once that was accepted, I was resisting life a lot less than when I became acquainted with this profound adage. But it took me some time to comprehend it all. My parents always said I was a late bloomer. Apparently it also applied to the management of my own deep gloom.
My most soothing of pleasures, though not ingenious, was curating the songs that I would play on the car ride on my way to work, that most matched my mood. It was at once a challenge and a triumph to unearth the appropriate song that would coordinate with my state of being, but also one that would not disturb my already fragile aura. It was a delicate endeavour that often left me unsatiated, where all I hoped for, was an apparatus capable of converting my energy into a rendition of my heartâs emotional cadence.
But that morning, the piano keys of the great Billy Joel landed in my ears, igniting a resonance I very rarely felt, only upon occasion where a profound truth had met my heart. His words felt like personal whispers, lyrical travelers.
I had often times found myself puzzled before the world, looking to decipher its laws and its codes, looking to chart patterns, all to better control it I guess. But there is a mystery surrounding us all which follows no laws. It is a brazenly mystical energy that permeates the ether and defines itself through its enigmatic and mystifying qualities. This song, I believe, was one of mysteryâs advocates.
The words became murmurs that danced gently towards me, charming me with their tender insinuations to which their emphasis felt orchestrated.
I felt spoken to.
This omen of truth was a sacred occurrence. I had to pay attention.
As the song goes, he utters the words
â Slow down - youâre doing fine,
You cant be everything you want to be before your timeâ
The impact of his utterances was timely. How I needed to be jolted back into awareness that everything is exactly as it should be.
âI am exactly where I need to beâ echoed within me.
He proceeds to sing
â Too bad but itâs the life you lead,
Youâre so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need â
His words pierce a hole within my soul, enough to offer me reverence and beauty back where it had been lost, where I had forgotten to see the grace that exists within the present moment.
As I drive through the meadow, I open the window to let in the autumn breeze. Glee prevails. I had just experienced my first daily bout of happiness.
