The Snowflake Chronicles

I Dare You

17 Azamat 163 B.E. – June 1 – 2, 2006 A.D.

I dare you to write at least one thing that makes you happy. I’ll get to describing something that makes me happy in a paragraph or two. First, I want to make some philosophical observations about happiness and some “happiness” assumptions that I find odd. These are personal observations I’ve made and conclusions I’ve arrived at after approximately 50+ years of dealing with the weird, wonderful and hilarious members of the human race.

The first concepts I find strange is that happiness is all butterflies and lilacs, jellybeans and chocolate. To begin with, too many jellybeans and too much chocolate is going to make anyone extremely sick, not to mention the possibility of engendering an allegory to those snacks. I know someone who acquired an allegory to chocolate because she ate too many chocolate candy bars. As for the butterflies and lilacs, let’s face it any garden with only one type of flower and pollinating insect is not beautiful, it’s boring, tedious, unimaginative, and uncreative.

The second concept I find anomalous is that happiness results from a state of well being, which in the western world is equated with wealth and good health. This is the dictionary definition of happiness and has very little to do with reality. Happiness is a choice, a conscious decision; it’s a choice every person on this planet makes every day. One usually makes the choice unconsciously by comparing one’s situation with known aspects of neighbors’ lives. We look at the outside and see enough money to pay the bills and good health; therefore, we presume our neighbors are happier than we are because we don’t see their struggle for existence.

Happiness is a choice, a person can be happy under any conditions. Happiness is an experienced of the moment, not something deferred until one has enough money to buy the physical pleasures of life or to pay the power bill. Simply because a person writes only about the negative events of life doesn’t mean that person is unhappy. Any more than writing only about the positive things of life means that one is happy. Life is a mixed bag of nuts and chocolate, broken glass and molten silver. Now that I have mixed my metaphors and fallen off my soapbox, I’ll describe something that makes me happy.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. My eyes were wide open; it had to be somewhere around midnight and I had to be at work at 7:00 a.m., which meant that I had to get up at 4:00 a.m. Outside the wind was blowing through the blooming oleanders and the full moon was casting the shadow across my bed. I rolled onto my right side and stared out the window, then I rolled on to my left side and stared at the open closet door.

The neighbor’s dog barked, a car door slammed, gunshots reverberated through the still air and a siren screamed. I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes. Something jumped onto my bed, walked across my prone body, set on my chest and began to purr. A rough tongue licked my forehead then moved to my closed eyes. The next thing I remember is the sound of the alarm clock.