We've All Got Scars as Big as Ours...

...A token for the pain we hide inside of us
Everyone's scared that somebody knows
You push it aside, yeah, that's how it goes
If you've ever heard a beating heart
A rhythm for the songs we're too afraid to sing
Nobody here is perfectly fine
A delicate frame, a fragile design

-"Nothing's Bigger Than Love," My Favorite Highway

I had three tough talks with three different kids today, outside of class time. Kids who are hurting. Lost. Angry. Afraid. Kids who are making poor choices and know it. Kids who feel like the world isn't on their side and they don't have anybody in their corner. And, honestly, it was really hard to discern care whether or not they could tell the difference between a "when" adverb and a "to what extent" adverb.  Needless to say, I've been thinking about these kids a lot today, and in turn it's made me think about how, so often, happiness is a simple choice. That's not to say I don't completely empathize with my students and strive so intently to make their lives richer and more promising, but I do think it's important for people, of all ages, to endeavor to make the conscious choice to let themselves be happy.

It's so easy to let the deconstructive words and thoughts seep into our reactions. So easy to let life's minor intricacies or delays twist and distort into downbeat, sometimes even destructive patterns of a day. Sometimes, it's such a choice to shape the way we remember a morning, a phone call, or a facial expression. Sometimes, I have to remind myself to focus on the good, and the improving, and the hopeful, rather than the fear and anxiety and regret. In Bless Me, Ultima, Rudolfo Anaya writes, "the tragic consequences of life can be overcome by the magical strength that resides in the human heart." And he's right. The abilities to react, interact, rebound, and choose are so uniquely human, but in order to experience this "magical strength," people must choose to open their hearts to happiness.

I think I do a pretty good job of looking at the glass half full. But sometimes, I know I worry too much. About school. And grades. And lesson plans. MLA format and concrete details. Seeing enough of my family. Of Tim's family. Tim's new job. Keeping in touch with friends. Forgetting to grocery shop. The cyst on Bailey's back. Getting a dentist appointment. Calling AT&T.

And it's then I have to stop. And take a breath. Because my life is a good one, and the (sometimes arbitrary) worries that cloud my mind vanish like stardust when I start thinking about everything I have to be thankful for. Like my health. And my family. And Tim. My friends. A job I love and still get excited about. Dense fog and hot chocolate on an early November night. The fact that Bud Light Lime now comes in a can. Our new fish tank. Living a block from the beach. Bocce ball in the park on a warm fall day. Knowing all the words to "We Didn't Start the Fire." SVU re-runs. Margaritas with extra salt. Running in the dark under the streetlamps, listening to the crashing waves. My students' jokes and laughter.

I can't "fix" all my kids. I can't be the glue or the puzzle piece or the duct tape that magically makes their hurt and frustration and sadness go away. I can't mend broken hearts or fill empty promises or erase spiteful words. But I can offer a listening ear and be a voice of reason. I can give encouragement and remind them that no matter who or what has ailed them on any given day, they are the sole people in charge of whether or not they choose happiness. And hopefully, that's enough.

“Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…”

– Thoreau