Moments ago I left my sick little girl snuggled in bed with her father so I could sneak a few hours of paper grading into the weekend.
The 49ers just won yet another game in their recent streak and are now headed to the superbowl and our neighborhood is alive with (drunken) celebration. People are hanging out of cars, honking their jubilation. Crowds are spilling out of bars, embracing in their celebration. Flags are waving, jerseys are flapping. Everyone is ecstatic.
When did my own happiness become so complicated? I can’t remember when I last felt that kind of simple joy, that unencumbered bliss. I can’t remember when I felt joy without the heavy trappings of reality.
Happiness has become so convoluted, so entangled in everything else. The joy of my daughter is burdened by the ache of wanting another child. The simple pleasures enjoyed with my partner are overshadowed by our constant obligations. The moments to myself are embargoed by the never ending responsibilities. There is joy in my life, but it comes with strings attached. It’s just so much more complicated that it ever used to be.
I want that brand of simple happiness again. I want joy unencumbered.
Maybe some day I’ll find my way back to it again.