So what is happiness? That's what was going through my head yesterday when, after a long work week, I was finally able to go for a walk in a piece of countryside near Cambridge. The trail between the bosk and the field was still muddy in places, as it was shaded by the thick trees and bushes lining the path. Carefully treading and stepping over muddy puddles, I was happy. My only concern and challenge was to get through this section without much loss of clean footwear. That's how little I was worried about at the moment. And actually, it's not really a worry, was it? And so I was thinking about happiness and how we tend to define it. Is it an overabundance of positive feelings and emotions or, conversely, a lack of negative thoughts and experiences?
I recently had the privilege of spending some time with a colleague from Germany. She came for three months and worked on several articles every day in our library. Occasionally we went out to lunch and there was some casual human sharing. Before leaving, she confessed to me that she was very affected when I said that we Christians should stop feeling guilty when we feel happy. It's somehow in us, this need to have "compassion" for the world and never admit or show that we are experiencing something beautiful. You know the saying: there is so much pain and injustice in the world, and that's why we need to be in solidarity all the time. Who does that help? No one! And yet people have to look at our furrowed brows and long faces. (Benedict XVI wrote about this in his encyclical Spe Salvi. You haven't read it? Then get on it!)
And so I weaved through the puddles, listening to the crickets in the grass and the birds in the bushes, and just being normally happy. Because we can choose to be happy. Of course, I could list for you everything horrible that has ever happened to me; how I almost cried the day before because I couldn't log into my critical social security account and there was no way to get through to anyone; that I scheduled my work wrong and now I am a bit overwhelmed; and that my rheumatoid arthritis has completely kicked in and every step is like walking on glass (but maybe I'm just a little mermaid). There's definitely a time to cry, but there's also a time to laugh, a time of silence, and a time to cheer. And I chose to rejoice yesterday. Enjoy those moments of joy, acknowledge them and stay conscious and peaceful in them, because that too is a gift that you and your loved ones can draw from. I wish you a beautiful Sunday.
Then, along the way, many small, engaging, and totally unimportant things happened to me, which can lead to other, essential things. But I'll write about that again next time. So check back here soon so you don't miss it.
