Gazing at the Star

So when I started this thing, I clearly stated that it was for other people, and I stand by that sentiment. If it served the introspective purpose of a journal, I would not be displaying it for the world to see. So, I would like to know if it is working. Now, this is a difficult proposition, because the very people who would read this and not have real conversations with me, namely, my target audience, are those least likely to respond to a query such as this. It presents a confounding conundrum. A pernicious puzzle. A malicious mystery. A real riddle.

I will solve this impossible interrogatory by simply asking that you post a comment to this post. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, in fact I invite you to register a dummy account strictly for this single response, and post a comment devoid of information, if you wish. I just want to know if there is a point to continuing this. That is all.

My effort finally paid off. There’s a sandwich shop across the street from where I work. They serve a really nice hot club, but it usually takes a while to go from it’s semi-prepared state to ready. This is unfortunate, because at lunch time, there is usually a line, which means that in order to eat this tasty sandwich, I have to stand around in the line, then place the order, then wait for it to be made. Dumb to complain about, sure, it’s the same everywhere, right?

Not anymore! I quite purposefully became a regular, showing up for lunch every day for a week and a half, always ordering the same thing. On Thursday, that effort paid off. I walked in for lunch, and the guy who makes the sandwiches greeted me, and started making my sandwich right away. I waited for the pair of extremely indecisive customers ahead of me, and by the time I had paid for it, my sandwich was ready. All I had to say was “Hi,” “Yeah, a club, please,” and “Here’s my credit card.” It was great.

The most striking retort I have ever heard happened to me, immediately after I committed one of the most shameful acts of my life. The person I did it to responded with the most pointed and cutting use of a common saying I have ever experienced, “A friend in need is a friend indeed,” which was particularly apt, as I had just mortally betrayed him. Eric, if by some miracle you happen to read this, despite us not having seen each other for ten years, I can only reiterate that that betrayal was one of the most shameful acts of my life, and beg your forgiveness, while promising that the man I have become, in a similar situation, would choose the righteous path.

I recall that moment whenever I feel ashamed of myself, using it as a touchstone, a spur to goad me into righting whatever it is I have done. I recently felt the need to recall those events. I was untruthful to someone about whom I care a great deal. You can stop wondering if it’s you, I’ve already made it right, we talked, it was good. The issue at hand is me.

I was in the sixth grade, and was in a clique that was made fun of, friends with all. And then, as if I was on a mission to prove that I was the shallowest douche in the universe, I turned on one of them when he was being made fun of and exchanged all the friendship we had for twelve seconds of feeling like I belonged with the cool crowd. As I have noted, I have regretted that action ever since.

Most recently my shame was due to the fact that I forgot rule number one for almost thirty-six hours. Rule number one, of course, being ‘make her happy’ (or, in my personal formulation, ‘make her happy, idiot’). In retrospect, I find it difficult to fathom why it took me so long, but I do know that it did. That is all.

I was a fairly sour kid in high school. My mother often told me to ‘happy up.’ Sour as I was, though, I did not think it was that easy. It wasn’t until I had the freedom college life gave me that I found out she was right (smart woman, my mother). My discovery that I could in fact become happy just by trying was followed closely by the corollary that being happy is a, well, happier existence than any other, so I decided to be happy most of the time. That strategy has worked well so far.

True, sometimes it is good to stretch and express the full range of emotions, from time to time I watch sad movies for that very reason, but that still serves primarily to contrast and refresh the general happiness that pervades my life. That the happiness is voluntary is of no import, because I am happy. I do not spend time or energy debating whether or not I am deluding myself.

The best part about being happy is that with happy as a baseline, high points, when things happen that would make me happy, are truly divine. I am able to truly and fully appreciate an excellent bit of comedy, a quiet conversation with a friend, the emotional contact of a shared moment.

Current Mood:The Euphoric Afterglow of Giddiness