I’m reading yet another book about being a better person (there are so many of them out there). This one—to remain nameless—suggests that I look for times in my childhood when I was filled with joy—the messier the better. The purpose of this is to help me discover what I can do to make myself happier now.
The first memory that comes to mind is swinging on the family swing set, with no annoying siblings in sight. It was a very hot day and I was eating a blue (tutti-frutti) popsicle that dripped all over my face and clothes. No one was telling me what to do or scolding me. I was free to just be.
Climbing trees with my brother, Steve and the neighborhood boys is another memory high on my list. Climbing up was exhilarating and climbing down scary. And then, yay, I was firmly back on the ground. It was awesome, pushing myself higher and higher, building muscles, knowing I could do it.
Anther memory was watching a glorious sunset in my maternal grandfather’s varnished wooden boat, cruising the Broads on Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire. The colors were pink and orange, burning and fading into each other. I loved being with my grandfather and being in his boat was a rare occurrence. I remember the smell of boat gas, the light spray off the bow, and the summer air cooling as the sun sank down. None of us spoke. And then he let me take the wheel.
I remember sledding down the hill on a Radio Flyer with my mom. She was in her twenties, so beautiful and lively. We went downhill fast for a long time and then crashed into a tree. Laughing, we rolled off into the snow, unhurt. It was a lighthearted memory to cling to when, later, things got rough.
I recall adoring the Laura Ingalls Wilder’s, “Little House on the Prairie” series. I could hardly wait to devour each book. I also liked “The Children Who Stayed Alone,” by Bonnie Bess Worline. My favorite topic throughout my childhood was anything about the American westward expansion. In college, I took as many history classes as I could. I have in mind to write three historical novels, each about a particular disease on Boston’s North Shore; and can’t wait to do the research.
I remember sitting in an overstuffed chair at my maternal grandmother’s camp, reading her books. My favorite was a book of fairytales. I spent hours in that chair, with the rain coming down, or until the last hours of daylight, totally emersed in another world. So many happy memories of the lake, especially when it was just me and one other sibling. We were so lucky to have that experience.
Rowing a boat or paddling a canoe or diving from a truck tire inner tube at the lake are some of my best memories. Even now I need to swim. It’s just who I am. I should have known my first marriage was over when my husband stopped taking me out in our boat.
In summary, it seems that literature (reading and writing), being in the water, and exercise are as necessary to me as breathing. I have all the tools to make me happy.