I ask myself things like this from time to time. What will it take to be happy? If I knew what it took, could I give myself up to it? Do I even really know what I want? Would I be quieting a symptom that doesn't actually cure the disease? It's a real brain twist. Seeking inner peace is a bitch.
I spend a lot of time on the treadmill. It's the only thing that makes me feel better about having made really poor choices with my dietary needs during the day and helps me be okay with my serious addiction to Netflix and Hulu. It's also a habit fueled by one of those, "what will make me happy" moments.
Being thinner was what I thought it would take. After a particularly rough break up, I dedicated myself to becoming exactly what I thought he wanted and desired. The plan was to achieve that and then show him and reject him. Revenge is a dish best served cold. Sounds childish doesn't it? Cold it would be. It took a year. In that space of time, I somehow forgot my plan. I wanted something else. To be honest, I don't even know what that was now.
Still, I find myself asking, "What would I do to be happy?" It's fleeting, this happiness thing. Content is easier, but I've never found myself happy with content. Strange. When I have it, will I want it? If I get it would I remember what I wanted to begin with? Probably not. Maybe it doesn't work that way.
So after a lifetime of asking, I went back to the treadmill. At least there I control what I want, how long it takes, and what the outcome will be. As John Derek said, "Live fast, die young, and have a good looking corpse." That I can work toward. During the endless thump thump thump of my shoes on the belt, I found myself letting Hulu dictate my morning.
The Booth at the End. If you have Hulu Plus, I highly recommend spending a little time catching up. If you've ever wondered how far you would go to get what you want, if you've ever wondered the consequences to your choices, if you've ever just questioned the grace of whatever or whomever it is that gives us the opportunity to choose... take some time. In the span of one season, I've come to realize that I have far less get up and go to do whatever it might take to acquire the ultimate happiness. I'm far more likely to move on. Go forward. Carry on.
So I kept moving. For now I'll just be happy with eating what I want without buying bigger pants. It's the only thing that keeps me even loosely woven. Oddly enough, at the moment I'm pretty freaking happy with my decision. My feet are on the ground... sort of.