It makes me happy when I see my two year old granddaughter, Evie, running toward me, squealing excitedly, arms flapping like she’s a little chicken trying to fly, then rushing into my arms for a hug. Evie expresses what she is feeling without reservation, without a thought given to decorum. When she feels joy, she lets everyone around her know that beyond a doubt. It makes me very happy to know that I am the source of her joy at that moment. May that always be true, though she will most likely express joy with more restraint at times as she goes through the coming stages of her life.
I’m listening to music written centuries ago by Georg Philipp Telemann as I write this. I learned to love Telemann when I attended Community Baptist Church in Manchester, Connecticut. The organist during my childhood and youth was an accomplished musician and she played Telemann, Bach, Handel and Corelli beautifully. Remembering that time in my life makes me happy.
Accomplishing something makes me happy: writing my novel An Unknown Soldier and seeing it in print. Writing my children’s story Under the Stars (and hoping it will be published someday). Stacking firewood. Teaching for 35 years. Balancing the checkbook. Leading the writing group for almost 11 years at the Pawcatuck Neighborhood Center. Cleaning the kitchen. Writing the minutes for the Westerly Friends Meeting, the Westerly-Pawcatuck Clergy Association and the Westerly Area Peace and Justice Group. Doing the laundry.
A few weeks ago, I finished reading Walden by Henry David Thoreau. The first time I read it, when I was in high school many years ago, I was mostly bored by it. This time, I was amazed by Thoreau’s eye for detail and his ability to describe Walden Pond in the different seasons of the year. I was happy to read it and even more to realize how my appreciation for and understanding of literature has expanded since I was in high school.
My definition of happiness has also changed as I have progressed through life. Sliding down a snow covered hill on an inner tube at Center Park in Manchester, jumping in a pile of autumn leaves, riding the waves all day at Misquamicut used to be things that made me happy. Now the memories of those times is a source of happiness. At the same time, I’m always happy these days when I go to the Westerly Y to lift weights or for a brisk walk through Watch Hill or around Wilcox Park.
I used to think of happiness as an exalted state to be experienced only occasionally, one that flies by quickly. Maybe the secret of happiness is to think of it as something that is always available. I usually don’t think of flipping a switch when I enter a dark room and having light fill the space as a reason to be happy. Nor do I usually consider the fact that I was able to walk into that room unaided, push a button on a remote and turn on the television .I can clearly see the picture, high-def no less. I can easily hear the sound without the volume turned way up. I can quickly get off the couch whenever I want and get a snack. I am as surrounded by causes for happiness as a fish is surrounded by water.
David James Madden