Happiness Is...

Can I share something that helped define me?  Well, I'm going to.

See, I'm a pretty happy camper.  I'm sure some of you out there have seen the gloomy Gus side of me, but truth be told, you know I'm one of the more chipper people you know.  And if you don't know me, well... 1) I'm a happy person, 2) thank you for reading my blog, 3) I'm sorry if my blog came up in your search for something completely different, but please read on, and 4) you are about to be given the secret to happiness, so aren't you lucky.  People have asked me how I could be so upbeat.  To this, I have answered many different ways.  Sometimes I shrug and give a goofy smile, other times I'll proclaim, "Life is good!".  If I'm feeling a little snarky, I may throw out, "It's a chemical imbalance!" and add a couple of jazz hands.

These are all pretty generic responses.  Do I actually know why I am happy more often than not?  Do I know why some other people are less happy?  No.  Of course, there are uncontrollable forces at work.  Brain chemistry is a strange thing that affects everyones moods in different ways and I have lead an incredibly fortunate life.  So yes, I do believe that those two things are probably key players in what make me "me".  Also, there is that whole concept of "choosing to be happy".  Is that like choosing to be awesome?  Because I choose you, Pikachu!

Oop, sorry.  My nerd got all over the place.  But I can kind of hop on board with the "choosing" to be happy.  Now, this only works when brain chemistry is NOT in play.  DISCLAIMER: all the things I am about to say have absolutely no bearing on people with depression.  Please do not go up to your friends and be all, "Hey, this Fritsch person is happy, you should be to!"  It doesn't work that way.  I am merely throwing out there some of my thoughts, my fleeting fancies, on the concept of happiness, so... yeah.  I'm not going to apologize for what is said here, but I'm also not going to tolerate it being taken out of context.

Speaking of apologizing, don't apologize for being happy.  I think that's one of the most important things I've learned through my short life.  Allow yourself to be happy.  Allow others to be happy for you.  Don't hold your happiness over others, but share it.  THERE IS ENOUGH HAPPINESS FOR EVERYONE.  I promise.

Ich.  I don't like the way this post is going.  It sounds like I'm giving you all advice.  Telling you what to do.  That is not what this was supposed to be at all.  I'm trying to sum up why I'm a happy person, or those little events in my life that make me who I am today, as far as being in a good mood.  Well, this post was actually inspired by a movie.  A movie that is not The Wizard of Oz, or any of the Harry Potters or Star Wars.  It's not even a sports movie.  It's a movie called Heart and Souls, which came out in 1993.  I didn't see it in the theatre, but rather in my Grandpa's living room.  He had cable.  So, let's say it was the mid-90's, which puts me at mid-elementary school.  I only saw it once, but it made a huge impact on me.  Or at least one part did.  This:

I remembered the general premise of the movie, but what really stuck with me was Thomas (Robert Downy, Jr.) and the rest walking down the street singing that song.  And I held on to that feeling.  I wasn't even sure what the movie was for many a year, but I did eventually find out the title.  That's what it's like inside my head.  That one scene.  I would sing that song and dance that dance all over the place, as though I had those four invisible friends around me.  That's happiness.  Happiness is singing in the bathroom or doing something good for someone else.  It's the little things.  

And remembering things that make me happy.  Maybe that's it.  I have a truly amazing memory, and though I can remember the bad things, I hold on to the good things.  Literally and figuratively.  Did you know I have a book of happiness?  I keep little things that make me smile in there.  Can you remember the best days of your life?  Can you remember swinging on the swing set and singing at the top of your lungs?  If you had to conjure a patronus, what would you remember?  

Also, I was kind of a morbid child, or at least I had some very morbid fascinations.  I loved reading about the Salem Witch Trials, the Titanic, the Holocaust, factory fires, plagues.  But then the funny pages every morning in the paper.  It kept things in perspective.  My life was never going to be as bad as the ones I read about, so why not be happy?  Of course there is a time to be sad, but that's not what this post is about.  This post is about dancing around to Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.   

Crayons

Guys, I used to steal crayons.

Specifically, cerulean Crayola crayons.  Apparently, I've always been incredibly picky about both my brand preference and color when it came to my crayon pilfering.  I have vivid memories of being in the childcare at the YMCA, and while all the other kids were watching Land Before Time, I was rifling through the cavernous tub of loose crayons in an attempt to find every single cerulean crayon.  Could I pronounce 'cerulean' at the age of four?  No.  Did I know that it was a much truer representation of what I envisioned as the color blue than any of the other crayons labeled as such?  Yes.  To me, blue Crayola crayons were a very sad color, and cerulean was a much happier alternative.

And this didn't stop with daycare.  Wherever there was a bin a crayons, whether it be school or that one restaurant that actually had Crayola crayons, I would immediately begin my hunt for the cerulean ones.  And once I started babysitting?  Well, let just say there are probably a couple of houses in my neighborhood that have been relieved of their cerulean scribblers.  Now, I never stole from BOX of crayons.  That would leave a gaping hole.  And it wasn't that I thought that hole would lead me to be caught (because who would think there was a crayon burglar?), but because that incomplete set would cause my OCD more grief than the new cerulean crayon would bring me joy.  There was this one time I bought a new box of crayons (just the 24 set), and the cerulean crayon was broken... BROKEN!  So, I brought it with me the next time I babysat and traded it out for the pretty (and completely intact) counterpart from the kids' box of crayons.  I felt better.    

You may or may not be wondering at this point whether or not I have a giant pile of cerulean crayons hiding somewhere.  I don't.  They've all been used, lost, or gone through the wash.  Although, I'm pretty sure that if you look through all of my old bags/purses, you will probably find a cerulean crayon in each of them.

Most recently, I was struck with the urge to make a bright green metallic mine.  I was at a music director's house for a rehearsal, and sitting on a speaker was a lone crayon.  It called to me.  Is that what kleptomaniacs feel like?  Or do they do it for the rush?  Because I just REALLY wanted to take that crayon.  There were no other crayons in sight.  Why was it there?  Just to taunt me?  To remind me that all I have in a measly 24 count box, with nothing more exciting than "dandelion"?  Why?!?  And I almost took it.  I told the music director that if he couldn't find his crayon, it was because I pocketed it, but I didn't.  Because I'm new to town, and I don't want word to get out.  "Don't hire that redheaded Elizabeth girl for your show.  She'll steal your crayons."

Also, can we just take a moment to hate on RoseArt?  Those are the worst.  I always felt kind of bad when kids at school had RoseArt crayons... until they asked to borrow my AWESOME 96 count box of Crayolas and returned it with all the crayons worn down, broken, and out of order.  Dude, I know you're used to your crappy, waxy, RoseArt pieces of nonsense, but ease up on my crayons, will ya?  Develop those fine motor skills, and discover the joys of shading.  No need to have THE MOST INTENSE COLOR FOR YOUR ENTIRE PICTURE.  At least not if you're using my crayons.  And what on Earth made you think that "Tickle Me Pink"goes back next to "Macaroni and Cheese"?  My box of crayons is obviously organized by color family... it's the first thing I did when I received it.  Show some respect.

To My Mum

The other day I was thinking about makeup.

What does that have to do with my mom, or mothers in general?  Well, let me tell you.  I was walking down the street, thinking about how I really hate taking off makeup, and that I'm so happy that I don't feel as though I need to wear makeup to go out of the house.  And that made me think about how my mom doesn't wear a lot of makeup, either.  Because she doesn't need to.  She's lovely.  And then I started to think of just how lovely she is and all the amazing things she has done for me, which is appropriate seeing as it is Mothers' Day season.  Unfortunately, I did not have the time, nor the resources, to send her a gift this year (never fear, she got an excellent birthday present), but I still want to give her something.  So I decided to give her my first blog post after a bit of drought.

Thank you, Mom.  Thank you for not wearing a lot of makeup, and not inflicting on me some sort of beauty regime.  But also, when I needed to look good for college auditions, thank you for taking me to a high quality makeup counter, and treating me to that makeup.  As you said, since I didn't ask for any makeup until I was 19, it seemed okay to buy it for me.  I still remember that shopping trip.  Thank you for the makeup and the dresses.  Going out shopping was never really our thing, and that was a very successful, fun day.

Thank you.  Thank you for taking care of me every single time I got sick.  Which, as we both know, was ALL THE TIME.  It was probably no fun taking care of a little girl who managed to contract scarlet fever.  And walking pneumonia.  And is allergic to penicillin, but caught strep throat at least once a month.  Oh, and who would sleep through her own coughing attacks, while you laid awake.  You're a champ.

I'm sorry.  I'm sorry for all the times we didn't/don't see eye to eye.  I'm sorry about the time I didn't want you around for homecoming pictures.  I'm sorry about the times I came home after having a little too much to drink.  I'm sorry that I don't wear a helmet when I roller blade, and I know it makes you worry.  I'm sorry about the one year I thought it was a great idea to buy you goldfish for Mothers' Day.  And I don't mean the crackers.  I mean two live goldfish.  

But thank you.  Thank you for reading to me when I was little, even if it did always make you fall asleep.  Thank you for making the world's best cookies, which I'm still convinced are the reason I ever had friends growing up.  Thank you for making a killer apple pie, and for teaching me how to bake.

Thank you for the ability to say that I had only ONE store bought Halloween costume.  And for loving holidays as much as I do.  And embracing all that is Christmas.  Christmas is important.  Thank you for decorating the house so beautifully every year and playing Christmas music and making hundreds of cookies.  Thank you for always making sure that my birthday presents are always wrapped in birthday, NOT Christmas, paper.

Thank you for supporting my Wizard of Oz obsession.  And my acting obsession.  And almost all of my hair brained obsessions and choices.  Thank you for believing I am smart enough to be a doctor or a lawyer, and accepting that I have degrees in Public History and Musical Theatre Performance.  Thank you for letting me do whatever I wanted to my hair and coming to see all of my shows.  Thank you for staying up to help me finish homework and other projects I left too late.

Thank you for teaching me how to manage my money.  Thank you for teaching me how to craft, and the simple beauty of something made by hand.  Thank you for teaching me how rewarding doing something for some else always is.  Thank you for the night we watched "Big Business", and for all the times we kicked Dad out of the Man Cave so that we could watch "Cupcake Wars".

Thank you for marrying Dad, because we all know he would be dead in a ditch if you hadn't.

Thank you for being there for me these past 25 years.  I look forward to many more.

There are innumerable other things which deserve thanks, but let's save some for next year.

Love you.