happiness is....

Some of us remember those cute little naked (or nekkid) people in the cartoons that read "Happiness is..." and then some mushy sentiment of love or caring or whatever.  On the way home from work I was thinking about happiness.  Happiness vs contentment vs serenity - can you be serene and not be happy?  Or can you be happy and not content?  And so on.

It stems from my own question of happiness.  Am I happy?  What do I have to be happy about?  I asked this of myself, and myself answered (in both angel and devil forms) "I have my kids" (who I miss).  "I have a good job" (which I'm not exactly thrilled with).  "I live in one of the best cities in the world" (alone).  "I can still laugh at myself" (maniacally).

One of my foremost goals in life is just to be content.  I don't have to be overjoyed.  I don't need to be utterly at peace with the world.  I just want to be content.  With my life, with the products of my life, with myself, with those around me.  I want to be the wise gramma who always has the answer, and cookies.  I want the house and garden and dog and cat and baggy old pants and a man's hat.  That's all down the road a bit, but I need to start practicing now.

I've been thinking, and dammit that always gets me in trouble, about who I am and how I am and why.  Sometimes I think I need to seriously grow up, and then I think that it's not nearly as much fun.  I wonder if I look absolutely ridiculous in my clothes, and wouldn't it be more appropriate to wear holiday sweaters and knit pants and sensible shoes, and then I think how I really don't care if I look "age appropriate" as long as I don't look like a hooker.  I think, really, I'm afraid that if I grow up, I'll grow old.  I was old in my 30's when I tried to be the serious breadwinner and make sure everything was taken care of while my ex-spouse had the time of his life.  And that's part of what caused us to be on opposite ends of some spectrum.  I grew old and he grew away.  Not that I'd have it any other way now.

Still, I should start practicing a little to be the old coot.  The purple wearing spitting woman of the poem "When I Am An Old Woman".  But then again, maybe that's who I am and I don't realize it.  The older I get, the less I care.  Not about life but about appearances and keeping up and acting my age, whatever that means.  And by golly, if the big truck hits me tomorrow, one thing my family better be able to say about me is that I was me and I was happy with that.  Maybe there are a lot of ways my life could be better, more full, more "robust" as they like to say in the professional world.  That would take too much work and I'm content to be a bit more mellow than that.  So happiness is....being yourself and being content with just that.