The Pursuit of Happiness

I AM AN OPTIMIST. Optimism is my outlook. It is my constant magnet, forever drawing me to hope. Happiness, on the other hand, feels like it’s been a bit more elusive. It can be a downright slippery little sucker if you know what I mean.

In my teens and 20s, I was happy because I was convinced I was immortal. Drinking, eating anything I wanted, and never sleeping. Going to every concert I could. Dropping everything and traveling anywhere at a moment’s notice. Doing donuts in the parking lot? Yes, please. Jumping out of a plane? Me first. No one could tell me otherwise. I didn’t think—I knew for absolutely certain— that I would always have my health. My problems could seem really big, like they were insurmountable, but I really just believed that I was never leaving this beautiful planet. A lot of my happiness came from thinking that I had all the time in the world.

AND THEN I HAD TWO BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTERS, AND EVERYTHING CHANGED.

All of a sudden, my mortality came right into focus. I care about these two girls, my Olive and Frankie, much more than I care about myself. The fear of not being here on this earth to take care of them became a reality for me. That “blissful ignorance” style of happiness I used to believe in was no longer available to me. But what’s interesting is I realized my happiness was more important than ever. I needed to be strong to raise my girls and give them everything they need and deserve. I wanted everything to be as good for them as I could possibly make it. I wanted life to look and function a certain way for them—a way that I had never known, but I could appreciate fully.

BUT THERE IS THAT SAYING: WHEN YOU MAKE PLANS, THE UNIVERSE LAUGHS.

When my plans fell apart, for what was not the first nor the last time,
I felt like all of the promises I had made to myself in honor of my daughters were being broken. And in that time, I felt really broken myself. I couldn’t even figure out what happiness really meant or how to get it, let alone keep it. All I could do was put one front in front of the other. I don’t know why, but it feels like it is completely taboo to feel like you don’t know what your next move is supposed to be.

My children are my North Star. I have always known in my heart that if I did what I thought would be in their best interests, everything else around me would be OK. And to my surprise, it was. As their well-being guided my decisions, we began moving in a new direction, literally and figuratively. We headed from Los Angeles to New York, where their father and I would work tirelessly to create a co-parenting dynamic that would nurture them. And we continue to give it our all. It took years, but life finally started to fall into place. The kids started going to school, life began to resume, and I started to work a little bit again.

Over time, the rhythm of life felt less like a crazy interpretive jazz number and more of a sweet beat. It is possible that it was the sound of my heart actually settling from the stress and the nerves that I had experienced in the last few years. Even so, I must admit that I felt like a failure because I couldn’t actually get to the state of happiness. I could be happy with my kids. I could be happy with my friends. But I knew I wasn’t truly happy inside.

But I reached the point where enough was enough. I had life on the outside in a good place, so it was time for my interior life to catch up. All of a sudden, I started to be really honest with myself. What were my coping mechanisms? What was I relying on that wasn’t working for me anymore? Which of my behaviors weren’t doing me right? If the choices are to stay the same or take the journey to your better self, is there really much of a choice at all? I just want to ask anyone who has been kind enough to take the time to read this right now: Do you have that little inner voice, a Jiminy Cricket conscience like mine that kept repeating that something needed to change?

With time and effort, I have finally found my way to a new, more authentic happiness and to a little more peace. At this point in my life, happiness is believing that I can handle whatever comes my way. The false sense that I had my very own cloak of invincibility has been replaced by knowing I have earned the capability of making it through the day. Some days are great—too good to be true—and others are just really crappy. Either way, it’s going to be OK.

As a 46-year-old woman, a mother of two young girls, and a professional person just doing my best, I’ve
come to understand myself a little deeper. Maybe my feet are a little more anchored to the ground, but it doesn’t have to make my head any less in the clouds. I do appreciate my mortality and every day I get to be on this planet.

I’ve learned that five minutes alone can change your state from code- red-stress-level-11 to sailing the calmer seas. Now I reach out when I need to. Speaking to someone smarter than me, seeking solidarity, or asking for advice really helps. And it benefits everyone around me too.

I have accepted that being optimistic is who I am, and I will constantly strive for happiness. Happiness is more of a hard-fought battle. When I win and I actually feel that true state of joy, I cherish it because I know that at some point—maybe not tonight, tomorrow, or even next week—I’m probably going to have to go and fight for it all over again. True, the usual state of my juggling act of kids/work/life tends to skew to the rather frenzied side, but no matter how bad things get, I always remain positive.

I may be a lot of things, but “stuck” is not one of them. I will always find my way, even if I need more patience with myself about what time frames are realistic for growth and change. There are truly no shortcuts, and I’m not sure if I believe the easy road would be worth taking because I might miss some very important parts of the ride.

All of our happiness comes and goes. When you are holding it, hold on tight because it is not to be taken for granted. It’s a fleeting manifestation of your own hard work. Every day is a true gift. My happiness lies in waking up and knowing that I took it for granted in my younger days, but I don’t now. Growing up is not overrated. It’s actually awesome.