Not a Happy Day
It was by no means a happy day. Not a single happy thing had happened There had been some things that he had hoped would happen that would have been happy, and those things had not happened. And some sad things, that he had hoped would not happen, had happened.
And yet he found himself smiling. He found that he was happy. He found that the pilot light inside of himself was on, was glowing brightly and flickering happily, and seemed to be packed with the promise of a possible conflagration of joy, given the proper catalyst. That is to say, he had hope.
He smiled at the clouds over the Hudson on his way to work. As he rode along the bike path, he sang the saddest songs he could think of and they made him so happy.
Over the course of the day, he found himself continually looking at his phone, in hopes of a happy call, a happy text, a happy message, a happy anything, but nothing came. He continued to smile and remain hopeful--not in a desperate or pathetic way, or in a false way, but in a real and true way. He didn't know empirically that everything was going to be fine. In fact, he knew empirically that it wouldn't be fine--there would be, over the course of the rest of his life, sickness and death and heartache and despair and all sorts of other sad things. But he knew, somehow that he would be fine. And he knew that there would be happy things in his future as well.
The day went on, with nothing particularly good or happy happening. He left the office and went on about the things he needed to do, and they all got done, which gave him some small comfort. He went home, happy that nothing truly bad had happened, and sad that nothing all that happy had.
He had looked forward to this day, and as it died, he found himself lying in bed, sad and happy, and looking forward to tomorrow.
November 29, 2016