Few things get me as excited as the NFL. Tonight, for the first time, the NFL draft happened in prime time and I watched every minute of it. Football always perks me up, but it’s more than that, I think I am finally becoming happier – at least temporarily. I feel really positive and motivated about my life these days and I’m not afraid to admit, I’m a little out of my territory.
There are so many great things happening in my life. It’s spring, I am making significant and positive changes to my diet and exercise routines, grad school looks like a sure thing, the marriage thing is flourishing, and today I had the first hint of the football season to come. Life is good and I feel good. For most people, this would not be out of the ordinary, but for a woman who prefers moodiness to cheer and cynicism to optimism this is a brand new world.
Still, it’s not all easy streets. There is some fear happening here too. The danger of being too positive is that you have a longer way to fall when it all starts to go wrong. I’m not kidding myself, this newfound happy-happy bullshit will not last, it’s just not me. At some point my rainbow and unicorn magic-filled mental state will start to recede and the reality will set in that life is hard and sometimes it sucks ass. Letting myself enjoy this happy period is tricky for me. I hate disappointment and frequently plan for the worst case, but never the best-case, just so I will not be caught off guard.
At the same time, I am enjoying this newfound inner joy and plan to make the most of it. For some people the cheer comes naturally, for others they must work at it constantly, and for me, I pretty much say screw it and deal with the moods as they come. Life is unexpected and there exists both joy and disappointment around every corner. I fully embrace all the twists and turns and I guess I’m never going to be someone who wants to live in a silver-lined bubble. I like the blues and the mean reds as much as the euphoria of good times. It’s those hard-luck cases in movies and real life that I’ve always been drawn to. The Willie Nelson’s and Holly Golightly’s of the world are unpredictable and live fully, and yes they suffer, but they have a quality that makes me want to sip scotch alone at a dimly lit jazz club and I really like that. For now, I will try to embrace this new optimism, but I can tell you right now that pretty soon I’m going to miss my single malt.
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