I always feel strange when I’m consistently happy for an extended amount of time. That’s probably not a normal way to live, to be suspicious of your own happiness. I distinctly remember feeling a similar way and then writing a similar post last January. January 27th, to be exact. It was a post about financial security and being in love and appreciating Providence finally and feeling content in my job. I was laid off on January 31st. Just three days after writing it. For the next four months, I found myself stripped of all those things I had worked so hard for, all those things I had just thanked the world for. I collected unemployment, resented James, hated the city I felt trapped in and nothing felt right. It was a very long spring. I felt like I was being punished.
One time, or maybe seventeen times, James said, you won’t let us be happy. I didn’t know what he meant. I do now. I have always been scared of too much happiness, scared of feeling too good, because the more you have, the more you have to lose. I would start fights when we were too happy, so that I wouldn’t get to used to the idea of being happy. So that happiness would never have a hold on me and in return, I’d never have too good a hold on happiness. That’s really the saddest thing I’ve ever admitted.
This is my open letter to the universe, in which to say, I’m accepting this happiness and I hope you return the favor. I’m sorry for all those years of neglect.