Happiness in an Age of Discontent

When did happiness get complex?

When I was a child, happiness meant getting my stash of Archie comic books
and reading it while lying on a bamboo hammock under an old iba tree.
First it was Archie comics then Sweet Dreams
and then Sweet Valley Twins and High
the pretense of adulthood sending us into fits of giddy delight.
Happiness meant completing my Rainbow Brite sticker book
and finding out the meaning of those words on grown-up books;
it meant eating chocolate and getting some
smudged on old condensed Reader's Digest volumes,
leaving the pages with a faint whiff of sweets.

I would skip to my best friend's house, as soon as I got the go-signal
to spend a weekend, getting to play those then-hi-tech word games.
It meant arriving to my ballet and jazz classes on time,
nabbing the part of the swan and then playing afterwards
at an old dictator's palace pool and being brave enough
to eat a santan's sweet flower sap.
Happiness meant dancing pas de deux and perfecting pirouettes
on old library parquet floors, gazing up
imagining a prince behind that red velvet curtain.

It meant getting up early on weekends and in the summer,
struggling into my leotards, catching my ride to dance class
and then theater.
"Eyebrows up, smiles wide, stand tall"
Getting into auditions, getting the part.

Happiness meant being sent to places, vacations,
eating Dunkin' Donuts ham and cheese sandwiches with hot chocolate in airports;
and in airports still, riding bikes, flying kites, hot sun burning bright on the tarmac
and then resting up for planes landing and taking off.

Happiness meant drinking Chocolait in glass bottles,
squirting Brown Cow onto cornflakes and on my fingers,
getting stickers from Maggie noodles,
watching Grease 1&2 and Pirates everyday after school.
It was eating peanut butter sandwiches
and iba doused with sugar while reading,
new coloring books, getting soaked by water guns, weekend beach trips.

Happy days were made of birthday parties and getting gifts,
getting socks full of candies on the Feast of the Three Kings.
Until now, the smell of newly-laundered socks fills me,
the squishy, squeaky-clean feel of it.
It was getting a complete set of crayons,
yes- the ones with gold and silver and the special sharpener on the box.
It meant having lots of pencils to sharpen and new, nifty school gadgets.

Happiness meant my youth with timeless, infinite possibilities,
the arrogance, invincibility of youth, the presumption that I can.

Since when did happiness get complicated?

Since you realize that the world doesn't stop and hold your hand while you catch your breath,
it isn't after all, at your feet and everything isn't truly yours for the taking
but have to be earned- blood, sweat, tears, fears and prayers.

Since patience became a requirement, not an exceptional attribute,
that though you realize money doesn't buy happiness,
it pretty much facilitates your foray into the deep, dank pits of depression
should you happen to sorely lack it.

Happiness now isn't only sharing affinities for Saturday morning cartoons,
dreams and making friends just because.
Happiness gets complicated when everything you thought important suddenly doesn't matter anymore.
When choosing your own adventures aren't now limited to books.
When, suddenly,
after the dress rehearsal that was your childhood,
you're now thrust onstage, klieg lights on you
and you have to play your role the best that you can,
when your everyday moments all snowball into this.

Happiness
now means catching your breath, finding your space.
Someone to hold your hand while crossing the street.