What We Learn from Our Past

Like many this time of year, I find myself reflecting on the past as well as planning for the future. I read more in winter, and because I have been ill for a couple of weeks, I have more time to read. Today I pulled out some old diaries from when I was twelve years old and had practically nothing to say. When I was thirteen, my mind was on horses and boys. I wrote about my best friends and teenage parties. What a sheltered life I led, a little country girl whose world was so tiny.

When we finally got a television set in 1953, I watched Elvis Pressley and fell in love. I couldn’t wait to see his first movie, Love Me Tender, but was extremely disappointed in him as an actor. In fact, I hoped he would not make any more pictures because he was better as an entertainer, I thought. The TV opened my world a little bit, but we only got channel 2, out of Atlanta and the programming was pretty limited.

In my diary I wrote about hay rides and prom parties. In one of these diaries, I wrote about my first kiss.

 I can almost see my life as a nineteen-fifties movie with me as the simple sweet girl without a serious care in the world, sort of a Doris Day type. All I had to do was try to look pretty and do my best to catch the eye of the boy I liked. When I look back on that time I realize that I, like most kids that age, was totally engrossed with ME.

Actually, I was not the carefree girl all the time. I had a darker side. The least thing could send me into self-doubt and depression, although no one used that word then. Sometimes I could be difficult to understand. I learned that from reading what my sister and my mother had to say about me. I found letters my mother wrote and was surprised that she worried so much about me. She said I was either up or down, no middle ground for me.

I could almost hear Mother’s voice in her letters to Gay. I got the feeling she didn’t worry that much about my younger sister who was level-headed and didn’t get upset easily. They were so much alike. But I inherited my father’s temperament, I think. He was volatile, brooding and easily angered.

Finding and reading old letters decades after they were written opened my eyes to what others thought about me, to what kind of a child I was. Maybe I was needy, but didn’t know I was. Could I have been what people now call “high maintenance?”

Best Friends then and now

 My poor mother had five children already when I came along. I was a surprise and I’m sure my father did not relish another mouth to feed. He already had his four boys and he had one girl. Then five years after the last child, I came along. I was very lucky. I had all of Mother’s attention and also that of my older sister. I was loved and I knew it.

Two and a half years later my sister, Gay, was born and then I had my life-long best friend. I had no reason to be blue, but as I grew up, I tended to think about sad things, and I worried about things that might happen. My greatest fear was losing my mother. I was terrified that she would die and leave me. As a child I prayed that I would die before she did. It was odd that I worried so about her because she was the healthiest one of our family. My father was the one who was sick so often.

I once wrote a poem comparing myself to an antique silver pitcher pouring sustenance for others, leaving nothing for myself. I think that pitcher was really my mother, the nurturing person who held us together as a family. She gave everything for her family and took nothing for herself. She was the most unselfish person I have ever known. She never complained about her life, what was lacking or what she didn’t have. When I look back, I realize that Mother never resented the pretty clothes, the nice houses or anything her relatives had. She was happy for them. Eventually she had a very nice house, but she was never hung up on things.

Objects you could purchase were not important to her – the people in her life were. Nothing made her happier than having a visit from her Florida relatives. She loved cooking a big meal for them and hearing all about their lives. She was a people-person and I am the same. I can be feeling blah, but if I go out and visit with friends, I feel wonderful.

I am in process of ridding myself of lots of material things—things I don’t need, will never use again or just hang on to because they were a gift from someone I love. Things are not special if they don’t answer a need or “bring me joy” as Maria the precious little Japanese Tidying lady says. It is the sentimental part of me that finds it hard to let things go. Do you have that problem?

You, my readers, are special to me. Even those of you I don’t know or might never meet in person. I appreciate each one of you and hope you find my posts of interest. I love to hear from you, so leave a comment or send me an email.

 

 

 

What Makes You Happy?

Recently as cold weather settled in on us in the mountains of North Carolina I was toasty and warm with the heat going full blast, wrapped in a soft throw and being so grateful that I don't have to live in a drafty house with only a fireplace to warm me.

My mother and father lived in that kind of a house when I was a small child. I doubt that it got down to six degrees in south Georgia, but it did get cold and the winter wind found its way through the walls, around windows, and under doors. Fortunately our new house built the next year was tight and adequately heated.

I appreciate my parents who struggled to make sure their children had a better life. They managed to survive the Great Depression, World War II, and still enjoy life. When I hear people today whine and cry about how bad this world is, I have to smile. Everything is relative, isn't it?

It seems to me that no one has enough. The wealthiest want more and more material things. They don't enjoy what they have because they live in fear that they will lose it. The poorest don't have enough to eat or a place to sleep. They want more, and would love having what the wealthy man owns. What he has would be enough, the poor man thinks. But if he had what the wealthy man has, would that be enough? Do we ever have enough? Can we be satisfied with what we have? Can we enjoy today and not be scared of what tomorrow will bring?

I am satisfied with what I have, and I am grateful for all I have. When the icy wind is blowing outside, and I am warm and comfortable with hot chocolate on the stove, gratitude for what I have sweeps over me like a soft breeze. I know there are homeless people who have no shelter from the cold. I know some live in cars or sleep in boxes on the street. I know children who ate from dumpsters because the family had no money to buy food.

I don't need more than compassionate and caring family, good friends, and my health to realize what is really important in life. In the past few days concerned friends called to make sure I have all I need to be safe and warm. My sister called to check on me. I could tell she was worried about me being alone after she saw frightening weather alerts on TV.

Soon I will go on vacation in Florida where some wonderful friends give me the use of a condo. But that is not all. One of them will fly north at her expense to meet me and drive me down to the condo. She will likely drive me back as she did last year. 

That kind of friendship is what is really important. Having people in my life who care about me -- people I love -- that is what matters. 

Recently I asked on my Facebook page: Do we learn more from joy or from pain? As for myself, I think I have learned in the past five years, through all the pain of loss, what I really need in life and what I must have to live a happy life. I don't believe we have to have the biggest house, the finest of furnishings, the nicest car, the most fashionable clothes or find celebrity and fame. I think what we must have to be happy is love, people who sincerely care about us, a safe place to call home, respect for ourselves and anticipation for our future endeavors. Doing for others also rates extremely high on the happiness chart. 

As a writer, I have one more thing that makes me happy -- the ability to express my thoughts, the opportunity to communicate with others. It is a need that must be met every day, in some way, large or small. So I post on my blogs, scribble in my journals, and fill long pages of yellow legal pads with various and sundry words that eventually are transcribed to files in my computer. At times those words find their way to a publication that reaches more people. That also makes me happy. 

What makes you happy?

Happiness - How Happy Are You?

Last night while trying to throw away some magazines I'd collected for six months, I came across an article on happiness. Many surveys had been done to find out how happy Americans really are and what makes them happy.
We are a fickle group. On one survey we say that money is not on the top of our list of what makes us happy, but when asked to choose between winning the lottery, losing down to our perfect weight and keeping it off, or having the best sex possible for the rest of our lives, most of us chose Winning the Lottery. So maybe money is more important that we want to admit.

It is not hard for me to know right now what would make me happy, but it is not possible to bring my best friend back to me. But had you asked me three years ago what makes me happy, I probably would not have mentioned him because he was so much a part of me that I took him for granted just as I take it for granted that my hands will type the words on this keyboard. Be careful what you say when you talk about what it takes to make you happy.

I would not have said that being able to open medicine bottles, jars from the grocery, and being able to read small print would be among the things that would bring me happiness. A few years ago I took those things for granted, also.

In 1995, if I had been asked what makes me happy, I'd have said my move to these mountains where I'd always wanted to live. I might have also said that publishing my writing would make me happy. Happiness has never meant material things, luxurious living, fancy cars and fur coats and diamonds.

Happiness for many people involves their children. My mother said she was always happy because she had her children she loved and enjoyed. She was married to a man she loved and although they had hardships both financially and healthwise, those things did not marr her happiness with her life.

My pets bring a smile to my face and even more than winning the lottery, I think I would rather be healthy and strong.

What makes you happy? If you aren't happy with your life, why? What would it take to make you really, truly happy?