Once upon a time I decided that I wanted to be happy. It was such an outrageous idea at the time, that everybody called me crazy. But I knew, deep inside of me, that I had the right to be happy, and if I wanted my reality to agree with that, I had to blindly trust that something bigger than me was on my side, moving each piece of the puzzle toward my happiness. I had to believe that Life loved me and that it wanted the best for me, and that my only job was to follow my truth: to surrender every thought to the present, and trust that everything has been done for me for my best interest and the best interest of all the people around me.
I’m a kid again. Is that so bad? Negative judgement pours my way, but they are only judging themselves. I love them anyway because I don’t care about their arguments. The truth is that is better to be dead than unhappily alive.
One day, when I decided that I wanted to be happy, everybody said that I was crazy because the picture of my happiness didn’t match theirs. They said that I was crazy because the piece of the puzzle for their happiness that I was, went awry, it didn’t fit any longer, so I cried because I wanted to please them, so badly that I was willing to kill myself, but my kids complained “mom we need you, please come back”, so I did! I prayed for clarity, and that clarity caused grieve to the adults that owned the puzzle where I needed to fit for their happiness, but my kids smiled and I smiled with them, and it gave me the assurance that God was on our side, the side of the innocents who believe that happiness is our right.