3AM Confessional

I woke up this morning, a morning as similar as any other weekday morning. Rolled onto my back to stretch my legs and arms with a big groan, rolled back onto my side and pulled the covers up to my jaw, pulled my knees to my chest, and closed my eyes. I sensed the coldness of the world outside my blanket. The radio alarm clock was blaring with the narrators’ commentary. I imagined him to be a good looking man, with his mild voice, behind my eyelids. It’s a Christian station. They’re talking of happiness. My exposed ear is soaking in the thought of happiness, channeling the words into my head. He says, and I think to me, “You can only be as happy as the source of your happiness.” I thought of my friend Tom with his daughter. I thought of my best friend Barbara with her daughter. I thought of friends come and gone with their booze. And then I thought of me…

Stripped down and went to the bathroom to shower. Looked down at my oversized hips and I thought of me. I rolled my eyes and sighed at the disgusting sight of me.

Happiness…

I thought of me. And what do I have to love? Who do I have? As fast as those words passed through my head, was as fast as my eyelashes were splashing in little puddles. I went back to my bedroom, wrapped the towel around my hair and laid on the floor, disorderly, naked, facing the ceiling. Grabbed my notepad and wrote his words on it. My eyes passed over them a few times and out of now where I wrote in response, “So how can you be happy when you’re relying on just yourself to be happy? And how can you be happy if the world around you can’t be happy, either?”

Facing the rest of the day seemed useless as, in my head, I wandered around the conclusion that everyone else has someone or something, but me. Yet, for over five months I have not slept with loneliness for him to chomp on my heart; there have been no passionate kisses swapped with depression for him to erode my soul. And I thought…

So, what is it that made me happy? What do I love? I thought to start where it all began:

Ava, my Goddaughter -

I kept going- Frankie and Michelle, my little cousins - Children’s laughter - Good books - A warm, cozy bed - Someone holding my hand - Watching the sunrise and sunset - Something soft on my face - The sun on cold days - Wind in my hair - Meaningful and clever conversation - Sobriety - Stories - Driving on the open highway with the windows down on summer days - Sitting in someone’s lap with my arms around their neck, my head on their shoulder, and them rubbing my back - Paid days off - Walking in new places - Birds chirping in the early morning - Watching old people still in love - Late night phone calls - Someone sleeping with their arms around me - Hanging out in my underwear - Coming out of an air-conditioned building and getting in a car that was baking in the sun all day - Singing loud in the car - Praying - Kisses on my forehead - Eye catching pictures - Tiny seashells -

For all those things, and many more, I am most certainly happy.
And so it goes, that the cliché is true; it is all the little things that matter most.