When I started this blog, I was not in a happy place.
I was
laid off from my second TV writer job in a row. And my loving “boyfriend” (he
didn’t care for the term), a budding filmmaker, called CUT on our year long relationship
with an impressive disappearing act that left me questiong whether he was even
real or a made-up character in a long, not terribly imaginative dream.
 |
The greatest trick the devil ever
pulled was to convince the world he didn’t exist.
|
I felt hurt, rejected and a little lost. But mostly, I was mad. Really. Mad.
So I
hid away in my cozy L.A. apartment, where I could work through some of these angry
feelings and wallow a bit, while keeping up a happy, gainfully employed false
Facebook front. I needed time alone to heal. And think. And rebuild. And
formulate my awe inspiring I’ll-show-dem-bitches comeback plan!
Mostly,
I just wanted to find my joy again and get back on a happier track.
During
this time, I also started writing a blog, that I called Mad. Shady.
Because I was mad. (And shady).
Because I was mad. (And shady).
It
began as a way to chronicle my quest for happiness and vent my frustrations
about unemployment, certain “people” and the tiny annoyances that
steal my joy daily. It kept me writing, which was good, and also helped me
remember the good stuff in life that makes me smile, like food, my fabulous niece and soul restoring music.
In
hindsight, I should’ve named it: One. Bored. Bitch. Because like its
author, it lacked direction and purpose, and I lost interest as I grew
increasingly tired of writing about my failed life. It bought me no real joy.
So I quit it. And sulked.
That’s
when shit got real. Real, son. Really real.
So,
yeah…
I had
no apartment
I had
no job
I had
no money
I had
no “people” or genuine, non FB friends to offer support or encouragement
I had
no health benefits *sigh*
And
worse, I had no more quiet, stuck in a chaotic house filled with constant
noise, a small army of germy kids and pretty much no privacy…
I’d
officially hit rock bottom. My failure at life was complete.
My joy
tank was on empty.
 |
| I’s feelin real down. I’s feelin mighty low. |
Don’t get me wrong. I was grateful, I wasn’t homeless. And I could do far worse than live in a house with a loving family, in-ground pool and magical garden, where I dreamed of a better life surrounded by butterflies, humming birds and bunny rabbits. (Like Cinderella, who lives one exit away, at Disneyland).
But I
felt completely isolated and removed from civilization in wooded suburbia, like
I was Henry David Thoreau, living in Walden. And I had even less desire to
venture outside and mingle with these bored, obscenely chatty OC housewives.
Plus, I
wasn’t really in a talking mood. So I mostly kept to myself. In my room. With
headphones. Growing angier and more depressed each passing day.
 |
I am alone…I am, utterly, alone.
|
And I
took a lot of long, pensive walks through the hiking trails along the coast.
All.
By. Myself. Away. From. All. The. Noise. Chaos. E-V-E-R-Y-O-N-E.
What I
wanted, more than anything, was to be happy again.
That's when I
had one of those Oprah-like aha moments that stopped me in my tracks, which
began when the shady voice inside pointed out, “you ain’t NEVER happy.”
Was she
right? Could I every really be happy? Just, you know, like be…happy?
Without
an impressive, high paying job? Or a man? Or steady paycheck and benefits?
Without stuff or things or fancy clothes or even an apartment? Could I
find happiness, in the moment, and be joyful? Without this compulsive need to
impress and gain approval or acceptance? Without any sort of outside validation?
COULD I BE HAPPY…WITH DAMN
NEAR NOTHING?!
Without a single, solitary
thing.
But me. And myself?
In
short, to find joy within and be the direct source of your own happiness.
What a
lovely way to live!
 |
I got that. I really got that.
|
But Lord knows it ain’t easy when faced with the realities of everyday life.
Especially
when I must contend with bills, unemployment, my own anxieties, people, ailments and all the
meaningless everyday bullshit that can escalate and bring me to the “bad
place”, triggering that fight-or-flight response as my brain warns:
Nope. I
can’t no more with this right here. Seriously. Make it stop.
 |
Maybe the best course would be to
tread lightly.
|
And I
still have days when I’m plenty stressed and pissed at pretty much everything.
But I’ve learned to accept that it’s part of my journey. And I can try to find
the humor in it, laughing at myself and the petty stupidness that eats away at me.
I am in
far better place, growing happier and less miserable everyday.
What steals YOUR joy? Makes YOU mad? And brings YOU to the “bad place”?
I’ll
share my struggles along with practical tips that work for me, as I try to rise
above and laugh away the bullshit to find my happy place…away from everyone.
If it
inspires joy, in even one weary soul, that would make me ridiculously happy.
_________________________________________________________________
_________________________________________________________________
No comments:
Post a Comment