Mental Notes

Waking up happy isn't a science, a result of conscious effort or something which one can will him- or herself to achievement. It is, however, in part, at least, the result of a combination of being truly happy and being able to step back and take note of that fact.

Being intrinsically happy is something which, I've realized, is a gift, especially given the degree of depression and the state of unhappiness some people I've known cart through this world, tethered to their soul like a ball and chain and racketing noisily through their every action.

I bring this entire sequence of thought into this forum for good reason: last night I completed one of the more difficult weeks, work-wise, I've had in a very long time. Sleeping this past week was an afterthought, and if I managed four hours per night I was lucky. Faced with a variety of deadlines, requirements, assignments and demands from clients, I managed to complete or address each one with relative success; for the most part, everything I wanted to accomplish was wrapped up beyond the confines of necessity, so being done with a large majority of my work-based to-do list obviously contributed to my waking up "happy."

However, as of late last night, I was still finishing some more work-related stuff, including a spreadsheet for a biggie client with whom I'm meeting this coming week, together with City personnel, to address a major issue that, depending on the swing, involves seven dollar figures. And a combo-pack of a status update in tandem with a flowchart for another biggie client which I wanted wrapped up Friday is going out Monday. So while I got a lot done this week at work, there's still plenty more to do -- there always seems to be, which is a good thing -- so that's not the sole factor in my somewhat restrained euphoria.

What I found interesting is last night I wound up at home, totally exhausted, and after completing my spreadsheet I opted for Cohiba therapy. This one was a Cohiba XV robusto paired with a bit of port -- Clocktower, I think; I'm making my way to a liquor store nearby and getting ahold of a bottle of Grey Goose Mandarin, however, for future visits to the world of Cohiba. Nothing like a highball of Mandarin Goose and tonic to set the world alight. Couple that with an Archipelago Botanicals Stonehenge candle and all is right.

But I digress...

So feeling the weight of the world seemingly, and at least temporarily, leave my shoulders, I wasn't sure if it was melancholy or the upcoming surge of work today, tomorrow and over the coming week, but I genuinely felt the need for vacation -- not necessarily someplace warm or worthy of sightseeing -- but just somewhere other than here, than this life. And it occurred to me that I don't remember the last time I took a bona-fide vacation, and I deigned to accompany my other half sometime in the near future to London (just as soon as we both resolve our varied passport issues, hers being absent and mine needing renewal).

However, once work was completed and I had the opportunity to talk to my other half, I began to feel recharged; so I unchecked the "nervous breakdown" and "clinical depression" fields of possibilities, with a relieved sigh. And as I crawled into bed and she and I each shared our day and our week, I began to feel I was back where I belong. And it sure as shit didn't hurt that her perfume lingers in my bed perpetually; it might be my mind playing tricks on me, but I'd tend to opt for the former (that, and I casually spray the sheets with a hit of her perfume from an atomizer she left here). And we each went to bed with a smile, although saying goodnight over the telephone really is becoming a chore. Even if we were in the same physical space last night, neither of us had enough energy to stay awake past a kiss goodnight and a quick trip to dreamland. But falling asleep with her next to me is becoming less of a mere bonus and more of an absolute necessity. And as I've indicated in these pages elsewhere, sensing that need, either consciously or otherwise, is extremely bittersweet, with the majority of the emphasis on the sweet but with an undeniable sense of bitter as well.

So this morning I woke up early to prep for a visit to the office and emerged from sleep with a smile; I'm not sure what was in my dreams but I know that, more and more, I am waking up eager to face the day rather than dreading it, and as each day closer to my birthday, which is twelve days away, approaches, and with it her being in New York, I am more often finding myself amazed at how much I have in my life to celebrate: my father's health is rapidly (and amazingly) returning to normal, my family and friends are doing well, I am handling more at work (and more efficiently, give or take a few moments here and there) than in the past, and I not only am with someone who makes me this happy, but she (seemingly) effortlessly makes sure I am at even keel no matter the weather. Her calming, balanced influence on me reminds me of that Neil Young tune, "Like A Hurricane," that features a lyric which reminds me more and more of her: "There's calm in your eye." There's something innately attractive about someone who has a lot of responsibility and who handles it with aplomb and ability; and as much as some might tend to believe in his assertions, when Jesus said the meek shall inherit the Earth, he wasn't living in the world of post-2k corporate warfare, mergers and acquisitions.

I 'spose the bottom line is that being happy, for me, is not only being at a place where everything is right, but being in a place where I can step back, appreciate who and what is in my life, be relieved over who and what is not in my life, and know that each day is getting better.

So as I spy the Cohiba burning slowly in the ashtray, and enjoying a laid-back mix of Eric Clapton, Billy Joel, Coldplay and Dave Matthews floating from the speakers, I can't help but be glad I'm as happy as I am and that I am able to step back and acknowledge it.

And it occurred to me that striving for one's goals and dreams and desires is a good thing, but being thankful for what you have, rather than what you don't, is a cornerstone, if not the foundation, of true happiness.

And as I write this, Billy Joel's "You're My Home," from "Songs In The Attic," plays quietly in the background in a sense of misbegotten irony.

You're My Home
Billy Joel

When you look into my eyes
And you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
It always comes as a surprise
When I feel my withered roots begin to grow
Well, I never had a place that I could call my very own
But that's alright my love,
'Cause your my home

When you touch my weary head
And you tell me ev'rything will be alright
You say use my body for your bed
And my love will keep you warm throughout the night

Well, I'll never be a stranger
And I'll never be alone
Wherever we're together that's my home

Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike
Indiana's early morning dew
High up in the hills of California
Home is just another word for you

If I traveled all my life
And I never get to stop and settle down
Long as I have you by my side
There's a roof above and good walls all around

You're my castle, you're my cabin
and my instant pleasure dome
I need you in my house
'cause you're my home.