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Becoming Happier

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I can't always make other people happy. It's hard to do and even harder to admit. I spent years making decisions and commitments based on what I thought others wanted or needed, forgoing the better decisions for and commitments to myself. I tried to convince myself that seeing other people happy made me happy, but alas, they were only fleeting moments. On the occasions I failed to make somebody happy, I became disappointed. On the occasions somebody was completely unappreciative, I became angry. Furthermore, I can't ever base my happiness on one person, or any group of persons. I have to find happiness on my own terms, and that means asking myself what I want, and actually doing it. (from " Reflections ", January 2018)  You know the saying, "Do what makes you happy"? Well, I've been trying that out for the past year or so, and it really works. It took a lot for me to realize that I hadn't been happy, and it took a long time for me to become h...
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Seven Minutes

A friend recently told me that people spend an average of seven minutes prior to falling asleep reflecting on that day and planning for the next. I told him that was a bunch of phooey for me, because I spend every other unoccupied minute of the day thinking about such things--among many others--and once my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep immediately. Hubris. The last two weeks were terrible falling-asleep sessions in that I actually spent well over seven minutes thinking and planning for the next day and the rest of the week. I also had a heavy heart which kept me unfocused during the day. It's amazing how much even the smallest matter that you tell yourself doesn't matter, does matter and pervade your mind for days on end. But the burdened and heavy heart has at last been relieved. I'm currently reading Audre Lorde's Zami: A New Spelling of My Name  for my LGBT Issues in Education class, and am very much enjoying it. It almost feels as though I'm reading for ...
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I Feel Ya, Ma

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This week, Ace disappointed me for the fourth time in the four months I have had him. The first three months were a perfectly--and surprisingly--smooth ride. And then I guess he started to grow up, and not only got comfortable, but also learned to take things for granted. The first time was several weeks ago, when I had been in a rush to get out of the apartment, and I snapped at him right before I left. While I was away for an hour, I felt unreasonably guilty, so I was already planning to give him a small piece of rotisserie chicken as a treat--or an apology--upon return. After going up and down the stairs with several loads of Costco merchandise, I walked into the kitchen, and saw a huge mess on the floor. He had jumped and somehow gotten the tied-up bag of food-trash out of the sink, and ate nearly all of its contents: half-eaten tortillas (because I don't eat tacos properly, so they say), saucy Styrofoam containers, browned banana peels... There was a myriad of things that...
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