Happiness – on Hold?
We convince ourselves that life will be better after we get married, have a baby, then another. Then we are frustrated that the kids aren’t old enough and we’ll be more content when they are. After that, we’re frustrated that we have teenagers to deal with. We will certainly be happy when they are out of that stage. We tell ourselves that our life will be complete when our spouse gets his or her act together, when we get a nicer car, are able to go on a nice vacation or when we retire.
The truth is, there’s no better time to be happy than right now. If not now, when? Your life will always be filled with challenges. It’s best to admit this to yourself and decide to be happy anyway. So, treasure every moment that you have and treasure it more because you shared it with someone special, special enough to spend your time with…and remember that time waits for no one.
So, stop waiting
–until your car or home is paid off
–until you get a new car or home
–until your kids leave the house
–until you go back to school
–until you lose ten pounds
–until you gain ten pounds
–until you finish school
–until you get a divorce
–until you get married
–until you have kids
–until you retire
–until summer
–until spring
–until winter
–until fall
–until you die
Happiness is a journey, not a destination. So — work like you don’t need money, Love like you’ve never been hurt, And dance like no one’s watching. Hope for the best and never forget that anything is possible as long as you remain dedicated to the task.
The Most Beautiful Flower
Author: Unknown
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree. Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown, for the world was intent on dragging me down. And if that weren’t enough to ruin my day, a young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down and said with great excitement, “Look what I found!”
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight, with its petals all worn – not enough rain, or too little light. Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play, I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side and placed the flower to his nose and declared with surprise, “It sure smells pretty and it’s beautiful, too. That’s why I picked it; here, it’s for you.” The weed before me was dying or dead. Not vibrant of colors, orange, yellow or red. But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave. So I reached for the flower, and replied, “Just what I need.”
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand, He held it mid-air without reason or plan. It was then that I noticed for the very first time that weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver, tears shone like the sun as I thanked him for picking the very best one. “You’re welcome,” he smiled, and then ran off to play, Unaware of the impact he’d had on my day. I sat there and wondered how he managed to see ‘A self-pitying woman’ beneath an old willow tree. How did he know of my self-indulged plight? Perhaps from his heart, he’d been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see the problem was not with the world; the problem was me. And for all of those times I myself had been blind, I vowed to see beauty, and appreciate every second that’s mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose and breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose and smiled as that young boy, another weed in his hand about to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
A Place To Stand
If you have ever gone through a toll booth, you know that your relationship to the person in the booth is not the most intimate you’ll ever have. It is one of life’s frequent non-encounters: You hand over some money; you might get change; you drive off. I have been through every one of the 17 toll booths on the Oakland-San Francisco Bay Bridge on thousands of occasions, and never had an exchange worth remembering with anybody.
Late one morning in 1984, headed for lunch in San Francisco, I drove toward one of the booths. I heard loud music. It sounded like a party, or a Michael Jackson concert. I looked around. No other cars with their windows open. No sound trucks. I looked at the toll booth. Inside it, the man was dancing.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m having a party,” he said.
“What about the rest of these people?” I looked over at other booths; nothing moving there.
“They’re not invited.”
I had a dozen other questions for him, but somebody in a big hurry to get somewhere started punching his horn behind me and I drove off. But I made a note to myself: Find this guy again. There’s something in his eye that says there’s magic in his toll booth.
Months later I did find him again, still with the loud music, still having a party.
Again I asked, “What are you doing?”
He said, “I remember you from the last time. I’m still dancing. I’m having the same party.”
I said, “Look. What about the rest of the people.”
He said. “Stop, what do those look like to you?” He pointed down the row of toll booths.
“They look like toll booths.”
“Noooo …. Imagination”
I said, “Okay, I give up. What do they look like to you?”
He said, “Vertical coffins”
“What are you talking about??”
“I can prove it. At 8:30 every morning, live people get in. Then they die for eight hours. At 4:30, like Lazarus from the dead, they reemerge and go home. For eight hours, brain is on hold, dead on the job, going through the motions.”
I was amazed. This guy had developed a philosophy, a mythology about his job. I could not help asking the next question: “Why is it different for you? You’re having a good time.”
He looked at me. “I knew you were going to ask that,” he said. “I’m going to be a dancer someday.” He pointed to the administration building. “My bosses are in there, and they’re paying for my training.”
‘Sixteen people dead on the job and the seventeenth; in precisely the same situation, figures out a way to live’
That man was having a party where you and I would probably not last three days. The boredom! He and I did have lunch later, and he said, “I don’t understand why anybody would think my job is boring. I have a corner office, glass on all sides. I can see the Golden Gate, San Francisco, the Berkeley hills; half the Western world vacations here and I just stroll in every day and practice dancing.
Abraham Lincoln said, “Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”
songsofheart
