My childhood was strange, but really that’s not all that fair a statement.  I would call it dysfunctional, but hardly so compared with the children growing up in impoverished nations or even some suburbs across the United States.  It could have been worse and there was a lot of good to counter the bad.  I certainly credit my youth with some of the wisdom garnered from it.  

All that said, there are times when I still feel anxious over feeling happy – as though it’s a temporary condition or a friend with whom I will soon have to part ways.  But lately, watching my children grow, sitting on the front porch counting fireflies, reflecting on my good health, writing, or taking in a rainstorm, I am struck with how happy I’ve become.  And it’s a place – a precipice – on which you may either look down and fear the long fall, or throw your arms up high into the wind and give in to the feeling of awe.  

In other words, it takes some effort to sustain happiness in a world that feeds on negativity because it is more newsworthy to fall, than to stand tall.  And yet, what a feeling, to sway on the infinite limbs bountiful joy, granting yourself permission to experience happiness.  

Whatever it is that brings you joy, revel in it without apology.

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