Diamonds In The Rough
One thing
I’ve been learning on my counselling course, alongside the sheer
bloody-mindedness necessary so as not to crumble in a crying heap in the
corner, is that the ability to get through tough stuff depends hugely on the
ability to find joy in life. For those graph nerds out there X (being survival
of the shittest) is exponentially linked to Y (capacity to find fun). Some of
the most awesome people I know fall into this category, time and again shedding
the skin of sadness to make room for the wings of delight.
Now let me
make myself clear, I’m not a fan of those Facebook fakes- you know the ones,
the people who clog up your news feed with zealous tales of bliss every three
seconds. Prosecco and besties- happy days! Fun family times #funinthesun Best weekend
ever- love my crew! Off on adventures #holidayamazingness. These people’s blasé
approach to exclamation marks and blatant overuse of upbeat adjectives honestly
makes me want to punch them in the face. No, I’m talking about the people who,
in the midst of crap, choose to look for diamonds in the shit. The seemingly
effortless grace and composure to smile when they want to sob. The way they
handle idiot comments and advice from well-intentioned people who know nothing.
Their calm restraint at resisting violent urges when the awkward pitiful looks
come their way. These people don’t deny their crap, or the way it makes them
feel. Tears flow freely, but laughter comes swiftly. Grief is sharp and bitter,
but joy tastes all the sweeter. When big shadows loom, dappled light is all the
more obvious.
I used to
subscribe to the thinking that my happiness depended on my external
circumstances; my friends, my family, my husband, the church, even God. In the
last few months I’ve woken up to a whole new way of thinking. The only person
responsible for my happiness is me. And since I figure we have a relatively
rough deal, the whole disabled kid thing is not an easy gig I promise you, I
need to step up my quest for pearls among the swine. Life tends to go in waves
for us, and just as we get used to things, the tide turns and we have a whole
new landscape to contend with. Currently that tide-shift has been the start of
B having seizures, a real sucker punch in the context of his already complex
chromosome condition. Statistically we knew it was likely, but up until
recently we were able to live in the hopeful fantasy that we might have escaped
that particular demon. No such luck. Statistically too, the seizures that come
with the dup15q tag are complex, diverse and often intractable (difficult to
control with medication). So you can imagine our heartbreak with this new
development. To bury my reactions would be foolish, to indulge in denial and
crack on regardless would be not only dishonest but also detrimental, and it would
come back with a vengeance to bite me in the arse later. Equally, allowing
myself to be defined by my situation would also be stupid, and hugely
impractical. I don’t want to spend my life in a sad blue bubble; I need to
raise my kids, I need to fight, I need to have leftover strength to smile so my
face doesn’t end up looking like a wrinkly dog’s bumhole.
On that
picturesque note, here is my attempt at uncovering mirth in my mundane. These
are things that always make me smile.
The smell
of the sea.
The waft
of wild garlic when I’m walking down middle chine.
The way
the sunlight glints and dances off the ocean on a sunny day.
My
hilarious five year olds’ regular ridiculous outbursts; on seeing a
goth/punk/emo dude in full trenchcoat get-up: ‘MUM! Look at that wizard!’ On
the swing: ‘Oops, my shoes fell off, oops, my socks fell off, oh no, what’s
next, my vagina will fall off.’
The
genuine magical ecstasy when one of our chickens lays an egg.
The looks
and laughter in people’s eyes when I explain that each child named a chicken;
Rihanna (Bl), Popcorn (O), Hulk (D), and Ooh (B). We are an inclusive family,
even when it comes to our non verbal son naming his chicken.
B face
planting people’s crotches at random when out and about. I choose to laugh, in
all fairness it is pretty funny.
Exciting
post. Like snail mail. Nothing better than exciting snail mail.
Amusing
myself by smiling and waving madly at strangers going past in the car, watching
their looks of baffled bemusement.
Seeing how
polite people will be on the train to work when I start chatting to them as if
I know them.
B’s
infectious giggle.
Watching
my kids when they don’t know I’m watching.
Full moons
and starry nights.
Going to
the cinema and being absorbed into another world for two hours.
Riding
full pelt down a hill with the wind in my hair, shutting my eyes for a second
and pretending I can fly.
Sandy
toes.
The feel
of twine and paint on my fingers when I’m busy making pretty things.
Belly
laughing with my friends.
Being the
cause of the belly laughing of my friends.
Dancing in
a club to the loudest music ever, especially when it’s an oldskool tune and no
one knows it except you.
Making
people smile.
People who
find sparks in the gloom have a means to escape the cave. Or at least survive
it.
Keep going, sweetie! I totally get this --especially the second paragraph. Many of the items on your list of things that make you smile made me smile. :-D
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