100 DAYS OF HAPPINESS

100 DAYS OF HAPPINESS

Day 44: OK, let me explain. I woke up this morning with the “Dick Cheney” of headaches, so called because like the pain, he was SO WRONG. Please…if I turn 60 and inexplicably turn into a Fox News groupie, set up a grouse hunt for Dick and myself (he probably will outlive me; the man’s survived like 20 heart attacks and a transplant) so he can accidentally shoot me instead of the poor bird six feet in front of him. Thanks.

See, today was Peggy Day and I had lots of news for her. Well, big news, anyway: giving two month’s notice to vacate and move to DC. She was thrilled, sensed my happiness, and rightly so.

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Walking me out after our session, she complimented me on my hair (“growing it out” awkward but I’ll take it) and Merrell sneakers I’d worn to her office dozens of time. Did burgeoning happiness make me look different?

Perhaps, because of what happened when I drove to the Lube Center (giggle) on her recommendation after our appointment. I’d told her about being pulled over and needing a new front headlight, and she said they’d take care of me. I entered the garage and said as much to a cute employee who walked up to me. We met at my car parked out back where I opened the hood for him and relayed my story. Soon a second cute employee joined us (now we know how many Lube Center guys it takes to change a light bulb), complimented me on my sneakers, too (!!) and chatting ensued.

I joked about being picked on by the cop with all the peace and compassion bumper stickers on my car. Employee #1 checked them out; as I sat in the driver’s seat turning the key to make sure the new bulb worked, they discussed something. Then #1 explained that this bulb was on them as they couldn’t charge such a compassionate person. Overwhelmed, I thanked them, then extended my hand and introduced myself to #1–Justin–“by the way.”

He made me promise to come back for an oil change.

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While writing at the Starbucks across the street (forgive me, but I couldn’t walk into Wegmans three days straight if you held a gun to my head), I struck up a conversation with the woman at the next table. Turns out she’s an actress in a company that performs in DC. I told her about my acting days, she offered free tickets and, hey, maybe drinks after a show, too. I’m meeting DC people and I haven’t moved, yet. Oh, and another woman admired my sneakers.

I ended my “outside” time by taking a walk around the lake, hence wearing the suddenly amazing sneakers. Earbuds in, “shuffle” hit, volume up, and I mouthed along to songs, big grin for the dogs, humans, and geese, lit up inside. Taking in the infant moss, downed and budding trees and bushes, descending sun, barest hint of honeysuckle memories, and distinct scent of soil and earthworms. The music fit the scene perfectly and I lost myself in it.

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It wasn’t until I got home that I realized my headache disappeared at the lake because it came back (damn you, Dick; so wrong) as I stood in the kitchen. Nature, human connection, and music had done what four Advil I’d resisted all day would do now.

 

Lack of communication is unhealthy.

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