Recently, I’ve been trying to pin point the happiest times of my life. It’s almost like connecting the constellations of the stars with a dotted line.
After some reflection, I finally realized the periods when I was the most content and when things were most effortless were when I loved the hell out of everyone and everything.
The summer I spent in Vancouver, British Columbia after my first year of college, the year I moved to San Francisco and met my husband, or the year after I had my first baby, and worked South of Market for the French Google Founders. There were also, the years that my kids remember when I wore pink cargo pants and told everyone how much I loved them. I tutored reading at the elementary school then, and instead of forcing the children to read I would ask them what their favorite color was and talk to them. After school, I would invite a dozen kids to my house to swim or we would make homemade pasta or decorate cupcakes with pink frosting in paper pastry bags with metal tips.
It was during these times when good things just fell into my lap as if by magic.
Over the last few years, I’ve not been so open and loving. I’ve kept to myself more, surrounding myself with just a small, or small for me, circle.
Lately, however, I’ve been more like I once was. Open, loving and optimistic. I let people know how I feel, and how much I appreciate them and I don’t assume they already know.
Because I’m more content internally, I’m willing to let things evolve naturally. I’ve calmed my need to control the uncontrollable. I still do my best of course, but I allow myself to believe it will all turn out for the best no matter what happens.
Maybe happiness is not as illusive as it appears, and love really is the answer. Wouldn’t that be nice?
Love and blessings.