happy places

You'll always feel the same, you'll just keep getting older.

-Nora Ephron

Trout Lake age 8

Atlantic City, age 6

backyard tree age 12

I didn't get to write yesterday because we went back to Asbury Park for the morning and the rest of the day was filled with the mundane follow-up to this simple pleasure: sweeping up sand, unloading wet towels and bathing suits, laundry, cooking, resting, and being with V apres-beach, although he remained relatively content for the rest of the day. For him, his bed and the dining room table are also happy places. 

The week had more downs than ups but since I'm working on reframing (a cognitive technique for viewing and experiencing events and emotions to find more positive alternatives) I'd call it a wash. There were two last minute very nice lunches out: one with an old work friend and one with cousins, I had a few nice swims and I did a lot of housework - not fun but satisfying.  I won't even go into the rough parts because I'll get over them and I find repeating narratives can get me stuck in the anxiety and stress they elicit. 

Looking up "happy place" I see it has an app version(what doesn't?) for depression and anxiety, and it leads me down a rabbit hole of all sorts of apps with names like calm and happify. I generally find all these algorithm-generated wellness tools, in their effort to be efficient and user-friendly, tend to downplay the nuance and messiness of life, but I download one called Pacifica to give it a try. A lot of it is annoying and unhelpful - I really don't want to listen to guided meditations with a robotic voice -  but there are a few good cognitive therapy/mindfulness type exercises that are useful, like.a tool to name your feeliings, which provides a good visual reminder that a range of emotions and experiences co-exist: that any moment, like any week, has a mix of happy places and miserable locales..  And it helps me remember that this is a universal, shared phenomenon: that the seemingly content comfortable people I see all around me have struggles, and those who are clearly struggling have moments of joy or peace, even if it's limited to french fries or a TV show...there's generally something that will have you saying yum or yes, that will make you happy to be alive, even if you can't name it or realize it at the time.   

Another good but grueling task this week has been going through bins of papers and photos in an effort to declutter.   Most of the papers are related to V and bring up a lot of grief, disappointment and anger. It's always jarring to physically witness that the the amount of paperwork V generates (and the time and money it represents) is at least 10 times that of his brother. Only in the boxes of photos do the boys equalize: love, beauty, growth - pictures that fill me with joy and laughter and wistfulness. 

There are as well a smattering from my own childhood, pictured above. Happy place #1 a picture of me and my dad from my favorite two weeks of the year: Trout Lake in the Poconos.  The cottage on the lake. the smell of the mountains. The rowboats. Entirely free days to swim and run around and play games with the other kids I'd see every year.  The weekly dinner at Besecker's Diner.  It was absolute perfection, and proof you don't need a lot of money to have a great vacation.  I wish so much I could have given something so wonderful to my own kids and I'm still struggling to accept that it didn't work out that way.
Happy place # 2: Atlantic City, where we'd take day trips to the beach and to visit my aunt and uncle who lived there, long days of sunshine followed by delicious home-cooked dinners. My mom and sister are in there but it mostly seems a photo of sand which I obviously found a lot of fun. Nothing changes - kids still can spend whole days at the beach where time disappears. The only difference is we now wear sunscreen, no one trudges through the sand with a huge container of ice cream over their shoulders yelling "Fudgy Wudgies!" and families cart a lot more stuff.  But the smell and sounds and sensations stay the same and whether you call it the beach or the shore for most of us it remains a happy place.

Last is the tree in the backyard where I grew up.  We have beautiful trees in our yard now, but none for climbing. I haven't scaled a tree in decades and don't know that I safely could anymore, but I remember the pride and joy I felt at my agility in clambering up that tree and how it would so kindly hold me in the crook of its branches where I could sit and read. 

The Nora Ephron quote is from an interview in today's NY Times Magazine with Parker Posey  (geez, the indie queen of my 30's is 49!)  and while it's a true and wonderful quote: what brings us joy, what makes us scared or sad, the core of who we are stays the same - it's also not.  The nature and texture of those feelings alter over time based on our experience and how much we can relax into the impermanence of it all. 

The happy places in my happy childhood were heightened pleasures but not dramatically removed from the tenor of daily life. They were joyous interludes, not respites or escapes from an arduous job or hostile environment. None of those words or experiences were in my vocabulary, thankfully.  I lost myself in enjoyment but never stopped to name it like now when I find myself sitting in the sand with a loving script: I am sooo grateful to be here at the ocean and what a relief to be somewhere no one stares at us and the sky is so beautiful and the water so warm and I am so very lucky.  Yes, I feel the same but I feel more, for better and worse.  And when I return to my messy demanding housebound life I try to find that happy place - however fleeting - on my plate or the page or a screen or under a tree or as I write this, staring out the window at a stream of rain..