I almost poured coffee into my oatmeal this morning instead of into the empty mug that I had waiting next to my bowl and have been wondering since then how bad that would actually taste, or if maybe I’m onto something. The official feedback I received regarding last week’s experimentation is that long sentences are more my thing than short ones, so never fear, today I am back with my signature borderline-run-on sentences.
Even Nebraska can be tolerable when it’s a means to a highly anticipated end. Within 45 minutes, we crossed through the only two mid-sized cities that call that state home, and into the vast tan nothing of the central United States. Nebraska has a way of making the rest of the midwest look innately interesting. And yet, as we drove through it on Wednesday evening and again Thursday morning, I couldn’t find it in me to detest the plain great plains surrounding us the way that I normally do, illuminated by the anticipation of what would lie beyond them.
Wyoming was brief and republican; a safety car led us through construction in a single-file line and deposited us well before the grooved pavement smoothed itself out. Slowly, we climbed toward Colorado, our car wheezing in the altitude.
In the mountains of Colorado, the mornings were brisk and crisp when we woke and leisurely sipped coffee on the patio. I began the days by descending the mountain to the yoga studio I found by chance while Chris departed on his bike in search of gravel trails, of which there were many. Middays were hot and cloudless, the afternoons were filled with the kind of weather so agreeable it becomes hard to tell that it’s there at all. Under the glaring sun, we convened with friends for coffee and some sort of snack that everyone else had to remind me to eat because without my routine, I’m nothing. A breezy sort of nothing, an unburdened sort of nothing.
It’s difficult to differentiate, while on vacation, if we are happier because this new place we are visiting seems to hold all of the answers to questions we didn’t know we’d been asking, or if we are simply relieved to be without work and responsibilities for a few glorious days. As the week progresses, it becomes easier and easier to envision our life as it could be in that Colorado mountain town, and harder and harder to recall the one we’ve crafted in Wisconsin. Chris and I both notice this, the progression in seriousness as we discuss what could be if we moved. I noted in amazement that the main street is dotted with tiny shops, each dedicated to a different one of my interests, from yoga to interior design, from used books to local honey. Chris speculated that he’d be better at biking and climbing up mountains if we lived in a place that actually had them. It became so easy to picture ourselves there, to envision the neglected aspects of ourselves that could be fed by living somewhere else. It seemed almost too perfect.
And it was, of course. I had fallen in love with the place, to be sure, but more than that, I had fallen in love with the idea of who I could be there. I’d created a fantasy version of myself, one that doesn’t mind driving in the snow and meets the recommended 10,000 steps every day. One that has no bad days and can take on an infinite array of tasks. One that sets goals and achieves them, that remembers to pay bills on time, that finds joy in everything she does. One who sips tea and gazes up at the mountains and lives a life as idyllic as the scenery. That version of myself is truly, unendingly happy, and that version of myself will never exist. I could take every possible step towards becoming her, but I will never reach that point; it’s unattainable no matter where I call home.
Happiness seems so simple, one of the first emotions we learn the name for as children. Happy, sad, angry, confused. Happy is the one we return to most, seek out most, arrange our lives around so that we might eke just a moment more of it. There are no better words for the feeling we strive to create. No better words encompass the excitement, joy, contentment, and ease that join together to create the emotion we know as happiness. It is so basic, so elementary, and yet, so elusive; the more we chase it, the more it evades us.
Running towards it, waiting for it, trying to trick it into showing up unannounced, as humans, we spend our entire lives trying to distill as much happiness from them as possible. Decisions are made and avoided with this in mind, either choosing the option that will bring us the most joy, or, when faced with the inability to decipher which option will serve us best, delaying or even circumnavigating the need to choose anything at all. We agonize, weigh the options, and stress over extracting every last bit of enjoyment out of this one stupid and beautiful life we get, negating any potential benefit we might have gained from making the “better” choice.
The relentless pursuit of happiness is, of course, the very thing that stops us from reaching it. While searching for more and better, we become paralyzed by indecision because more and better might meander into our lives at any time and we don’t want to be tied to less and worse. In our constant search for more and better and our refusal to be content with what might eventually look like less and worse, we deny ourselves the opportunity to have and truly enjoy anything. I realized, when I found myself barely wanting to return to the house that just a few months ago I couldn’t wait to move my things into, that I had allowed the fantasy to travel too far. The willingness to give up the life I’ve worked towards in exchange for a few more hills on the horizon, the growing resentment towards what I had dreamed of only months prior, the regret I started to feel about the stability Chris and I had intentionally created all brought me to the decision to stop allowing my better self to exist in a place where my physical body doesn’t. The current version — the only real version — of myself can only be happy if I stop doling out all my joy and contentedness to hypothetical versions of me that don’t exist outside of my head.
By waiting for the perfect space or the perfect time, I’m only delaying what happiness I could have now. Similarly, by trying to constantly chase happiness, trying to eliminate bad feelings by optimizing the good ones, I will run myself into the ground. I will never find the perfect place for me because the perfect place doesn’t exist. I’ll be back to that tiny mountain town, absolutely. And I have no doubts that I’ll be just as content whenever I revisit as I was last week. But I also know that I can craft the same contentedness anywhere, including where I am right now.
As we descended out of the mountains and down from the height of our trip, a quiet washed over Chris and me. Maybe we were trying to soak in the last moments before returning to reality, or maybe we were out of things to say after a full week of being in each other’s constant company. Whatever it was, we steeped in the bittersweet drive home. Colorado gave way to Wyoming, which eventually ended and the earth flattened. Nebraska seemed to taunt me all the way home, unfolding more and more of itself each time I thought we were approaching the finish line. We eventually crossed the river into Iowa, watched the speed limit decrease despite the road containing no more obstacles or hazards than it had further west. We stopped in Illinois to see a friend and refill the gas tank, and didn’t stop again until we pulled into the driveway. I felt an exhausted wash of relief as we passed the sign welcoming us to Wisconsin. For the first time in my adult life, I unpacked immediately. I greeted Friday, inspected the tomatoes growing in the backyard, started one load of laundry, then another. Chris and I poured ourselves each a glass of wine, settled onto the couch, and toasted to being home.
pillow talk zillow walk
my phone is riddled with notes
partially-formed thought fragments
with nowhere else to go
searching for a home as I search
for what that means in the mountains
I feel grounded even though I’m
higher than ever even though
the edibles never kicked in I’m watching
birds as they circle one another
mice as they dart between grasses
joggers and their dogs as they
run up that hill
and make a deal with god
unbridled
a lack of pressure
from both the atmosphere
and the outside world
made me think I like it here
it’s so hard to give up and
so hard to keep going
and you’re watching
I can’t decide if I’d rather be
unknown or well known —
for everyone to know my name
and no one to recognize me
sounds ideal
this isn’t of my own volition
the best of both worlds
hannah montana and disney channel
did this to me now I’m watching
a fourteen year old wizard
solve murders in the arconia
I have more photos with other people but I am nearing the email length limit and I am vain! so you get selfies. What drastic, implausible life change do you think would make you happier? why would it make you happier? how can you incorporate one aspect of that into your life as it is today? are you sick of the word ‘happy’ and all its variations after reading this newsletter? food for thought.
Until next week —
🥰❤️