November 24: Wildest Dreams, Powerless, Charles Dickens Biography

So saying, they turned on their heels and walked out of the door and into a life-style beyond their wildest dreams.

If only finding happiness were as easy as that.

I believe there is nothing more difficult than to admit that you are powerless.  Human beings like to believe that they are in charge of their destinies, from first breath to last.  Of course, this belief is false.  Most of the big things in life--birth, death, love, an ABBA reunion tour--are pretty much out of our control.  On top of that, we have no control over other people, either.  As much as we would like to live forever or have our children live forever, we have no say in that.  Just as we have no say in who we love, or who loves us.  Death happens.  Or it doesn't.  Love happens.  Or it doesn't.  ABBA happens.  Or it doesn't.

Now, those statements are not profound or groundbreaking in any way.  In fact, in the grand scheme of things, I would say that's pretty much Being Human:101.  However, I need to remind myself of these truths pretty much on a daily basis, because I'm stubborn.  And because I like to play God.  I think I know what's best for me and for everybody else.  Certainly, I think I know what will make me happy.

Today has been a day that has reminded me, frequently, of all of these annoying truths.  I won't go into detail, but I'm sitting here now, typing this post, wishing everyone would just . . . do what I think they should do.  It would make my life so much easier.  Of course, I only have control over my actions.  For example, writing this blog today is challenging for me.  My heart isn't in it, because I'm struggling with its subject matter.  In short, this writing is not making me very happy.  Yet, I choose to continue writing.

Of course, I could choose to do something else.  Something that would make me happier.  I could log out, turn off my computer, and take a nap.  Or order a pizza.  Or watch It's a Wonderful Life.  Or work on my Christmas essay.  Or read a good book.  I haven't read Peter Ackroyd's biography of Charles Dickens in a few years.  That would be about 1200 pages of pure pleasure for me.

Perhaps reading that Dickens biography sounds like torture to you.  Writing for pleasure is also pretty foreign to most people, as well.  Jimmy Stewart might irritate you.  (If he does, by the way, you and I can't be friends.)  Happiness, you see, is a matter of choice, as long as you aren't basing your happiness on someone else's actions.

So, I am powerless.  I admit that.  I am going to choose to do something tonight that makes me happy.  It may involve Charles Dickens or Jimmy Stewart or a fountain pen.  I have control over that.  And I will not let anyone else's actions interfere with my happiness.  Until tomorrow.

After all, as Saint Marty says, tomorrow is another day to be powerless.

A picture that makes Saint Marty happy . . .