Who Makes You Happy?

Great advice to become a happier person.

The Fickle Heartbeat


Many times a person gets so consumed in a relationship that they lose their identity as a person and instead rely on their significant other to define them. This is dangerous not only for him/herself but also for the other person. The pressure being responsible for anyone’s happiness is very overwhelming. Often, because we rely on others to make us feel happy, we become disappointed when they don’t meet our needs. What I’m trying to say is you can’t jump into a relationship hoping that someone will make you happy when you can’t even do it for yourself.

Answer this: would you rather be with someone who brings good, happy vibes to a relationship or be with someone who is always sulking and complaining all the time? When making someone happy becomes a duty, you just don’t want to do it anymore. From what I’ve seen, people who can be…

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On Mother’s Day and Letting Go

Holidays are a mixed bag for lots of people, myself included. I celebrate them because I have a family that I love and would do anything for. But, there are important parts missing. So, in some ways, it’s like being an actress in a play. You know the lines and the appropriate emotions, but it’s just not real.

My own mother has been gone since 12 days before my daughter was born. Any time you lose a parent is horrible, but to do so while pregnant was cruel. And it was sudden. She was fine on Christmas and dead by New Year’s Day. So mother’s day is hard for me.

This year I got the best gift. Time with my daughter. We talked and laughed and had some wine and I came to know the adult she is becoming. Her reasoning for separating herself so completely from my home to her new home. How my divorce and the actions of both of her parents had affected her.

It made me think of things in my life that I still blame on my mother. She was not an easy person to deal with but she was the one there to shape me. I’m sure today’s psychiatry would have some kind of diagnosis for her, but back then, you just dealt with what you were dealt. My sisters and I have all tried to put our upbringing behind us and become better people, but I still find myself using the crutch of “its Mama’s fault” to explain some of the things about me that I like the least.

But, after my daughter left to go back “home”, I got to thinking. It’s a sham to only remember the bad. There were good times too. There were positives too. It’s like the opposite of losing someone sometimes where you only remember the good. With Mom, I only acknowledged the bad. Because if I remembered the good, I’d have to let her go. I’d have to mourn and accept.

So, this mother’s day, I made a new friend. My daughter as a mature adult. And I lost a friend, my mother as a positive person. Both bitter and sweet. But isn’t that like most of life?

Learning from the Blur

I remember in fifth grade when I first got glasses. My mom driving me home and me being in wonder that you could see each leaf on the trees. I always thought trees were just green blobs on the top of poles. People say that you look at things through rose colored glasses but I disagree. I think that sometimes we look at things without our glasses on.

Sometimes we want to see things blurrily because if we see the edges and details, then they might not look how we want them to. We see that guy as the guy that, that one time, said how great you were but don’t look at the times he chose someone else. We see that girl that said she liked you but don’t look at the fact that she was posting on Facebook or twitter but couldn’t be bothered to text back. Sometimes blurry is our friend.

Seeing things without sharp edges can help on those long, lonely nights but, if you never acknowledge the edges, you can get hurt. You can spend your time playing what if instead of recognizing what is. You can let a gorgeous leaf with its edges pass you by while you’re longing after the blurry tree.

I’m not saying that, when things come into focus, they never work out because sometimes they do. But, most times, actions speak louder than words and bringing things into focus shows you flaws that you miss from far away.

Daydreaming is great. I do as much or more than most. But, if I have learned one thing, it’s that, if you spend too much time dreaming, you’ll wake up one day to discover that life has passed while you had your eyes closed.

So, take some time to dream but open your eyes and live too. Long for the blurry what ifs but embrace the clear what is’ too.

Put your glasses on and marvel at the leaves!Trees


There was a cool breeze blowing the curtains. She could almost smell the rain that would begin falling before morning. She settled the white fabric of her gown around her on the bed and picked up the scented lotion. Everything had to be perfect for her love.

“My love” she chuckled. She still wasn’t sure what to think of him. What to call him. What do you call the man that invades your dreams every night? The man who makes you feel more alive than any other? The man whose face was always in shadows.

She still remembered the first dream of him. Sitting in the garden in the dark. Hearing his voice. Feeling his hand touch hers so gently. The loneliness that had pulled at her like quicksand gone for those few moments. Feeling like there was fresh air to breath instead of drowning in her aloneness. She regretted waking to face reality.

The next night she again dreamt of the garden. He was there. They talked and laughed and he held her hand. As the sun was starting to peek over the horizon, he had her close her eyes. She smelled a fragrance that was uniquely him. Then, she felt his lips graze her cheek. The softest touch but it had run through her body like a jolt of electricity setting her nerve endings on fire.

Again the following night she met him in the garden. There was a tension in the air that had not been there before. With every breeze she shuddered as though the wind was his fingers trailing over her arms, along her neck. She longed for the feel of his lips, the soft whisper of his breath on her skin. When he had her close her eyes to kiss her cheek, she reached up to gently cup his jaw, holding him for a second longer.

He hesitated and she was instantly afraid that she had crossed some imaginary line or pushed some imaginary boundary too far. Then he slid his lips, so soft, so full, across her cheek to settle on her own lips, parted and waiting. Everything about him, his touch, his smell, his taste, were instantly familiar, like the smell of home or the taste of sweetness. They gave themselves over to a kiss that was more than the melding of two mouths. It was the marriage of two souls. It was two parts of the same heart welcoming each other home.

She had dreamt of him every night since. His voice and touch and smell were all dear to her now. He was her love, her lover. She hurried through each day longing for the hours with him. It was as though the day light hours were wasted in longing for the night. As if she were willing the sun to no longer shine so that she could have more hours with the moon.

But tonight would be different. Tonight she knew she would see his face, see the lips that held her captive, see the long, slender fingers that touched not just her body, but her very essence. She had waited so long to be his. That’s why she took such pains to be ready. Fresh from the bath, scented lotion, her hair down in curls like he liked it. She lit the jasmine scented candles and opened the curtains to allow the breeze in more fully. Tonight was their night.

She turned off the lights and laid back, anxious to join him. Her love. The man of her dreams. She closed her eyes with a smile, as she put the gun to her head. Tonight….

Ramblings of an insomniac