This will be a quickie, because I have to leave in fifteen minutes to pick up Eve from preschool. But I’m working on not being such a perfectionist, so I want to just get this out as well as I can in that short time and be done with it. I want to post something imperfect! Okay, well, imperfection isn’t actually my goal, but you know what I mean. But on with it already, the clock doesn’t stop for my digressions.

So, I think I’m learning how to be happy. Or, more accurately, to accept the happiness that’s already in front of me, that’s always there for the having. That’s great, right? Woohoo, I’m getting happy, let’s dance! The thing is, though, it feels scary to let myself be happy. And I keep being surprised by that. I mean, really, why should it be frightening to be happy? Well, because I might lose it. If I never let myself be happy to begin with, I never have anything to lose, but if I let myself be happy and then I lose it, that might be worse then never having had it at all. That sounds ridiculous, because who wants to be that way? I don’t, but my brain sometimes tries to protect me without my consent. My mind is finally yelling loud enough for my brain to pay attention, I guess.

I’m walking around, then, as if I’m carrying an egg on a spoon. My happiness seems so fragile, so delicate, that I feel like the tiniest misstep might break it into a thousand little pieces. But the egg is painted so beautifully, it takes my breath away, and I don’t want to stop carrying it. I have a feeling I’ll learn gradually that the egg is stronger than I think. For now, though, I’m grateful to have it at all.