Happy Place
I’ve dug through so many different topics through this journey; everything from books on adventure, Buddhism, psychology, stoicism… one of the more interesting concepts I’ve been exploring is Mindfulness. At first, I thought it was kind of bullshit not going to lie, but the more I started deep diving it the more I can see the benefits. So I bought a book that essentially talks about Mindfulness 101. I didn’t want to go full Joe Rogan on the shit and trip on mushrooms while floating in a sensory deprivation tank and after binging on elk meat all day, but I was curious to see the benefits of taking some time out of my day to meditate and be “mindful.”
The struggle with someone who suffers from attention issues is that taking the time out of my day to focus is incredibly difficult, even for a measly 10 minutes. I’ve made it a point to do it daily, which I have an app to remind me (as I have an app to remind me of EVERYTHING). This go around, I was challenged to find “my happy place,” mentally sit in it, and listen to a song that reminds me of it.
What is my happy place? The whole journey reminded me of Harry Potter trying to figure out his happiest memory to summon a Patronus… or Peter Pan trying to think of it so he can fly. This literary devices have so much hidden meaning… Jesus Christ.
I close my eyes, relax my muscles, and focus on my breathing. This sets the mood… gets me enough oxygen to my brain so I can think clearly and vividly. In and out… chest rises and falls… I become aware of the pulse in my finger tips. I’ve never had an issue for lack of imagination, but staying focused is the hardest part. My mind starts to dart around and think of things that don’t matter: conversations I’ll have with people later, tasks I need to complete at work, the next jiu jitsu move I want to do. I refocus. I pay attention to the way my body is in space, and try to picture the room around me in all the detail, once I do that I transform it into my happy place… Is it my childhood home? The softball fields I used to play ball on? The first house I bought with my ex husband? Is it Montana or the Sierra Nevadas? Where is the happiest I’ve ever been?
At first, I’m lying in a tent in the chilly early morning. My sleeping bag is warm and inviting, beckoning me to stay inside, but the sun has other plans for me. It’s a place I’ve never seen before, as I arrived at the campsite the night before in complete darkness sans the ebbing glow of the campfire. But alone here in this tent, I know I need to get up and at em by starting some coffee and much needed breakfast. I unzip the tent, and am met with the most beautiful surprise. The orange sunrise, mirrored on glass-like lake that stood just yards away. Dead trees jutting from center of the water as a crane swoops across in the early morning hours. I’m awestruck by how beautiful it is… as I am handed a hot cup of coffee while I step outside.
This place is delightful, but it’s not my happiest place.
My mind wanders to a lake. It’s huge, and surrounded by mountains that are speckled with very expensive houses. The lake has a giant metal fence around it, and no public parking, so I have to sneak around and find a way in. Finally, a concrete staircase is found, and I descend the staircase with into the thick trees below. There’s a trail at the bottom that parallels the lake, going behind the many expensive lake houses. I trudge along, adorned in a bikini top and shorts, carrying a basket full of picnic supplies. Finally, I arrive on the beach near several private piers and set up shop on some blankets hidden from the lake patrol. The water is warm, clear, and inviting… and the sun feels great on my skin.
This place is also delightful, but also not my happiest place.
It’s nearly sunset and I am in the cockpit of a Piper Cherokee at my home airport. I land on runway 12, a giant massive runway the size of a parking lot, in which my instructor jumps out and signals me to go on my own. I’m flying a plane for the first time by myself. I line myself up on the centerline, and stare at the vast runway in front of me, scarred with black marks from tires touching down. I gun it, and give this 140 horsepower engine everything she’s got. My airspeed comes alive, and I pop up into the sky quicker than ever before; I’m surprised by how quickly it climbs with one less person inside. As I laugh hysterically at my new found freedom I am reminded that I, a high school slacker and self-proclaimed doofus, am a mother fucking PILOT.
No… not it….
I’m standing at the top of a hill at the AFRL, looking at the vibrant desert sunset in the fall after a friendly game of basketball and shit talking…
No…
I’m standing at the base of Mojave Tower, surrounded by co-workers who have become family to me, watching two of our other coworkers rocket to space…
No…
I’m standing at the top of a rock face in the Tehachapi Mountains…
No…
I’m walking down a dirt path to Paradise Falls, a hidden waterfall feature in the…
No…
I’m on a busy beach next to a fake pirate ship. The sun is warm, but the water is ice cold. The sand sticks to the back of my thighs like a sugar cookie as I wait on shore to warm up. From the waters, someone begs me to come back and play…
Almost…
I’m walking into a secret entrance of a park. Around me are trees that block out much of the sun, and on other side are the backs of houses. This dirt path, covered with leaf litter, is tread by various joggers, walkers, and dogs. As I follow along, it takes me down next to a small creek in which the path forks off in three directions: up towards the dog park, following the creek, or underneath this dark, corrugated steel tunnel. I’ve been throughout this park several times, it’s become ritualistic to go here to hike and watch the dogs play, but at this particular time I’m watching a boy climb up trees and attempt to sit on a rope swing long left behind. An annoyance for some, the sound of the tranquil walk is occasionally interrupted by the loud thwack of a stick on a tree or against a rock. All boyish noises.
Each one of these memories has a common theme in which I am free to be myself… free to be queer, free to achieve my dreams, free to be disconnected from society and the norms it demands. But this happy place is different than the others. Not only am I free to be myself but it’s the first time I’ve experienced unconditional love. Every partner I’ve ever had, we have had conditions to our relationship. Trust, loyalty, respect, cohesiveness, etc. But with this boy… what can he ever give me in return? What would I require of him? Nothing… and that’s when I understood that motherhood is the truest form on unconditional love.
In this silly little dog park… this is where my happy place is.
My Apple Watch buzzes letting me know my 10 minutes is up, which was as unexpected as the tear streaks down my face were. Fuck, I never even got to the song part of the meditation… I was too busy vividly exploring these place I didn’t even realize I forgot to listen to a song while I was there… same as I failed to realize that revisiting all these places would have such an emotional effect on me.
Cleaning the streaks off my face, with a tad bit of embarrassment, I got up and made myself a cup of coffee to shake it off. What is so appealing of those happy places?
I will never be there again, my happy places. They only live in my memories. I will never experience or have those moments again… and that’s what makes them so precious. I wish I had appreciated all of these moments for what they were when I was in them…
And maybe, just maybe, that’s just one of the points of mindfulness…
