Happiness Is Free

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I think at some point, in all of our lives, we start asking the question why. Why am I working at this job? Why am I here? And why can’t I? Just over a month ago I quit my first job after college. There are some things that simple won’t keep me at a workplace, and this was one of those things.

I’d wanted to quite the entire year I was there. Not because of the job itself, but rather because of two individuals. (Props to you two that got promoted on lies and scandal). I however, have moved on and along with moving on, I’ve learned a little bit more about myself, and I am proud.

It takes a strong individual to constantly try to be perfect in the eyes of others. What I’ve learned is this. It takes an even stronger individual to accept imperfection if it means doing the right thing. This was the case with my job. But lets forget about that now.

A month of summer has had a rejuvenating spell on me. Everyone has to work to make money. Money buys things, and therefore makes us happy. Can we be happy without money, or less than what we’re used to? Or for that matter, can we be happy with less-than-perfect lives?

Can money really buy happiness or is it free?

Some of the happiest people I know don’t have a lot of money. Others that do, seem so uptight and worried all the time about having enough. Where does the line have to be drawn?

When a hummingbird migrates North after spring when all the flowers are in bloom, do you think they worry about having enough money to travel with? Or do they fly carelessly, needing only the earth to survive? What makes us anymore special than that of animals or birds? A brain?

Why are so many things just so not important? If life is short, than why not live it happily? Why not do what you love and in the process make money? If living happily can mean imperfection, too, then sign me up because I’ve heard from a little birdie that happiness is free.

 

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Chirping Petunias

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This morning, as I’m running around doing some crazy cleaning in my loft apartment, something furry-like plopped right into a bed of petunias in my planter outside. Of course, I didn’t have my glasses on. So, to me it looked like a furry toad had just jumped into my bed of flowers. Yet, it was somehow able to fly (I’ve quite the imagination without my glasses). Still, I wondered what the heck is that?

A bird chirped loudly underneath the standing planter that held the little creature. It was bouncing up and down in a search for something all over the balcony. Chirp, chirp, chirp. It eventually flew away making that same loud chirping noise.

I crept slowly from the kitchen and into the living room to see what all the chirping was about. I got a better look once I was closer to the balcony door. Then, I could see it (whatever it was) still there and blinking slightly as if it were tired. It had a soft cotton-like material floating around it’s head, the kind of feathery material you’d see in a nest.

Right around Mother’s Day, I filled my planter with pink and white petunias, impatiens, violets, and what I call “fairy flowers.” I couldn’t wait this year to plant some blooms and set up my new hummingbird feeder, an airtight one.

I stepped closer to the little creature, curious why it hasn’t fled like the hummingbirds if I get too close. I slid my glasses on and in front of me was not a toad or a weird creature, but a little baby bird.

The other bird chirping madly must have been the little one’s mom. She was trying to see where it had went off to, not knowing the little stinker plopped just above her into a bed of petunias.

At first, I panicked. How am I going to help the mom find its baby when she just flew off? So I called my own mother for advice.

She told me not to worry, that “its a baby but knows how to fly. It got itself into that bed of petunias, it can get itself out.”

There was nothing to do besides watch and wait. I pushed my couch close to the balcony door and kept my eye on him. He must have been really sleepy because his eyelids fell over and over again. I couldn’t help but worry for him. I could hear the mother chirping around elsewhere. Why isn’t the baby chirping back? Does he not want to be found?

But then, a loud helicopter was above, and a man was mowing the lawn down below, making quite the loud noise together. The little baby’s eyes were wide. What a great day to learn how to fly, right little guy? I guess he had to learn eventually, and might as well be today.

When the loud noise was off in a distance I saw his mouth open, not like the real young ones, maybe he was yawning? Chirp little guy, chirp already so your mom can find you. But he just sat on top of those comfy petunias, content.

As I watched and drank my coffee, I could hear the mother’s chirping grow louder and more frequent. She’s trying to find you little guy! I knew what he had to do.

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Chirp, chirp, chirp he finally called back. I smiled sipping the last of my coffee. His wings flapped slow and uncontrolled. My cat watched him and jumped on the screen, kicking her feet and trying to discourage him. But he kept trying. He chirped back the same song  just like his mom. Then, he jumped and flapped his wings to the floor of the balcony.

He was just a little guy standing on his own two feet, petite beak, and bland-colored feathers. He bounced around, seeing his potential of being mighty. He sang and flew off into the wind.

The little bird got me thinking.

We are all born with wings, just like this little bird. We can choose to hide, or we can use our natural born wings and sing loudly. We can fly off with the soft summer breeze and grow stronger with each day forward.

Maybe this bird was simply taking a break from learning how to fly. Maybe he wasn’t actually lost from his mom. But I’ll remember him as the little bird chirping in the petunias that I planted last month. The petunias grew with each sunny day and each time I watered them, they grew more and more abundant.

It’s a nice reminder to see how far we’ve come. But it’s even better to know that we have wings and wherever we fly or hide, we always have the potential to get back up and fly on.

 

So Succulent Summer

This summer has been so succulent for me. Yes, it’s had desirable qualities, has mentally nourished me, and has been full of juice and beautiful blooms. Succulents are beautiful, and these I captured at my grandma’s garden. My summer has been a journey. A journey into the real world, if there is such a thing. After graduation and after getting a decent first job, I’ve been learning a lot. Along with this journey into the real world, I’ve taken an adventure into the imaginable with my writing. It was such a great feeling when I released my first novel. Now, it sparks a light in me to just know that for the rest of my life, I can write what my heart tells me, and no one can stop me. It really is a great feeling.

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To write, one must be inspired. It must come naturally to us. Yes, there are times in our writing when we take a break until our hands must bleed with unspoken words. Words that nourish the eyes of avid readers. I remember the first time I read my favorite book and how much joy that brought me. I also remember writing my first novel and seeing how much freedom it brings my racing mind that must write. Writers are born with a natural instinct to tell the world what’s in their head, how they see the world. It amazes me to know that I can forever write, forever learn, and forever grow like succulents.

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