I am so terribly happy, I find myself stupefied by my undeniable joy.
Never have I, alone, felt anything like this; and it’s not the transitory kind of happiness either – my disposition seems to have altered; although, it’s not without cause. I’ve doubled down on my boyhood dreams, put my money where my mouth is, and invested in myself as a boy wishes to do when he is a man. Furthermore, I returned to the simple, instinctual joys of my childhood – those natural, comforting acts and habits in which one’s soul receives communion from the steady, centering spirit of the earth. But as we age, the ego emerges and we slowly abandon ourselves, eventually burying any sense of duty to the self, sometimes for decades, sometimes forever. I’m just one of the charmed, fortunate fools who rediscovered something lost long ago; lost long before I knew heartbreak; lost long before I lost faith in myself, for a time, that time not so long ago.
Today I’m again happy as only a boy is, as only one is who has not yet lost the unblemished optimism of youth, the hope of boyhood, and the innocence of promises whispered to teddy bears.
Back then, long before I carried this scar on my brow and this sorrow in my heart, I spent every free waking moment with my unsullied face in a book, the stories a balm on the dimples of my heart, still faint impressions formed by a world less perfect than the ideals of my ten-year-old heart.
Today, the boy who grew up lost in a book has found himself again in the libraries of time and in the words of his heroes, strangers who told the world their secrets: as a boy whispers them to his stuffed animals.
These, beautiful, peace-filled days pass in books and walks and endeavors meant to shape the world, at least, the world I live in.
It’s been said that happiness is the absence of neurosis, and I have discovered this to be true, for I have not a love, nor a fortune, nor a magical secret – but I smile as one who does, knowing I will.
I’ve realized the gift in losing, the freedom in uncertainty, and the rapturous joy to be found in the treasures of the heart. For this heart is mine and I’ve been to hell and back with it. And I’ll be damned if I ever forget the song in it again: the song I learned as a boy; the song I sing as a man.