Just a thought… Happiness is not out there, it’s in you. [attributed variously to Don Miguel Ruiz, and others]
Ah, the famous 4-20. A day to spark up for those who even note it anymore; with pot dispensaries as ubiquitous as coffee shops in Canada, it’s hardly a thing, I would guess. But what do I know? I never enjoyed the stuff. Part of it is the harshness on my throat (which still has not fully recovered from a now month-long cold), but the other is that I just don’t like how it makes me feel: thirsty, lethargic, paranoid and like I have a big lump in my throat.
I think I’m that rare person who can’t use CBD to help sleep, too. At our age, and especially with menopause messing with people’s REMs and rest, many are turning to gummies to help in that area – goodness knows I have a lot of friends who do just that. But I must be some kind of weird unicorn: it makes me think too much and I can’t shut down enough to sleep. Me overthinking? Imagine that!
Here in our new little island home, the sweet cabin in the woods where deer wander by the windows and a fifteen-minute walk affords possible views of whales, sleep comes easily. No sounds of traffic or trucks backing up nearby, only the odd far-off owl or morning woodpecker. Sounds heavenly, right?
So why did I try so hard to mess it up last week?
During our visit to new neighbours, I soaked in their panorama of ocean views: ferries meandering by, the promise of eagles and possible sea lions, and a sense of wonder. Not long after we had that lovely time, my addict brain started poking at me, whispering more, more, more!
So what did I do? My wandering heart let my fingers do the pecking and, while Rob slept innocently beside me, I looked at real estate listings here on the island. My hope was to find a house that replicated the views we’d seen that afternoon, so that we, too, could take in the wonders of the ocean (never mind that this is our condo view in Sidney).
I found a house that was within what I thought was our possible price range, and reached out to the realtor who’d connected us with our Wedgie, asking her if they’d come down in price, what was wrong with it, and so on. (The answers: somewhat, and nothing.)
But the next day when I “jokingly” told Rob about my search, he was quiet. At first he said he’d look at the listing and then just changed his mind, reminding me that he’d worked so hard during my winter away to: a) move us in here, and b) make it feel like a home in which I could finally feel happy. At peace.
And he did. I do! But again, that addict’s brain. Two days later, I shut down the idea, and apologized to him. I likened it to me coming home from Mexico and, after all he’d done, telling him that I’d found a new man, or novio if you will. I realized the depth of my inconsideration and apologized wholeheartedly.
Yesterday we took a long walk – much farther than Rob would usually accompany me on – and found ourselves at a marina about 15 minutes from Wedgie. We explored the area and, of course, looked for those elusive whales. One day, one day….
On the way home, Rob picked up a used weed whacker that someone was giving away. It will be put to good use at our cabin, especially since when we left our big house last year, we gave away any outdoor equipment we had because we were condo bound.
The walk was good for our souls and just further solidified the knowledge that as much as a cliffside house would be a bigger adventure with wider vistas than what we now have, I need to get comfortable and find peace in where I am. It may be genetic, having grown up in a family of serial movers (and some of us still are), and part of it is searching for true happiness when a lot of our hearts simply disappeared with Lauren’s death.
My analogous infidelity was a reminder to stop and be present. To be grateful for the immense kindness and love of my long-suffering partner. And to ask myself today, and every day: What was I smoking?
Happy 4-20. Or whatever day this is for you. For me, it’s another day in a perfect life – except for, as we always say, that one thing.