The summer I was going through my divorce, I was mostly in a state of shock, grief, and survival (although I didn’t know it). To help me out, my best friend sent me a link to join a meditation class she enjoyed. Like most acts of kindness offered to me I leapt into the course like a diver desperate for air. One of the first exercises our meditation teacher asked us to do was to feel our emotions physically in our bodies. Superficially, my outer layer felt gratitude for having so many people who cared about me during a difficult time. Looking back, I was in a complete state of disassociation. I wasn’t sure if I was hungry, sad, or tired - but I was clocking into work and speaking when spoken to. Week after week I closed my eyes, listening to the meditation prompts and trying to drop deeper. It wasn’t until my teacher coached me in private that I was able to identify the root grief that lay beneath me: with one rapid movement he quenched his double jaw steel right across my exoskeleten, leaving me ready for devouring. It was terrifying to feel the aching anvil sunk permanently onto my chest, the desperation stinging my bloodshot eyes. I finally felt something in my body - and it was superbly painful and disorienting.
To ease my suffering, I started to give myself simple pleasures likes walks, poetry, books, and music. I was listening to an audio book called Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. It is about a woman called Eleanor who heals from her trauma; the main character is funny and lovable. While on one of my walks, I read a passage that stuck with me. Eleanor reaches a turning point in her journey and describes the first time she felt happiness.
“It was such a strange, unusual feeling—light, calm, as though I’d swallowed sunshine.”1
I had already started to feel into the pain, and was so proud of Eleanor for feeling happiness too.
A few weeks later, I had finally sold my house and got the keys to my very own apartment in the city. I was starting over with a new life. One Saturday I got invited to a lovely ladies brunch at an adorable Sicilian cafe in South Philadelphia. I got dressed up into a bright print dress with red lipstick. When I arrived, the cafe was buzzing with giggles and funny stories: we had the entire restaurant to ourselves. Everyone poured the champagne heavily into my glass. The waiter was charming and handsome and when he touched my shoulder, I felt a chill. The chef came out at the end and offered me a beautiful Italian tiramisu. I felt special and cared for. A sober stoner, on my walk home I noticed how the breeze blew against the trees, wanted to lie in the vivid green grass and dig my bare feet into it. Suddenly, I felt a warm, buzzy feeling in my chest, like the champagne was dripping through my heart valves. Then it started radiating throughout my entire body. Finally, I realized: I was full of joy. Not only did I feel happiness, I felt the completely in tune with everything happening inside of me.
Since then, I have noticed every single sliver of joy; every glimmer of content, every rush of elation. I have written about it, I have talked about it, I have tried to replicate it, and I have been grateful for it. Like Eleanor - I don’t want to be “fine” - I want to be invigorated, calm, loved, light, and connected. I don’t want to take for granted this life that may have once been ordinary or dull.
“And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.” Kurt Vonnegut
When have you been most happy? What did it feel like to you?
Honeyman, G. (2018). Eleanor Oliphant Is Completely Fine: A Novel (Reprint ed.). Penguin Books.
"A sober stoner"... love that line. Beautifully written, as always. Bisous !