It's Okay to Feel Good

Is it, though? These days, I have been actively widening my window for feeling good. I’m onto the relentless internal voice with a long punitive finger and scowl of a face. This lady reminds me to brace myself and never get comfy feeling good. She wears a long dark robe and takes her job seriously. She’s smart and righteous and determined to not let me enjoy life if anyone else in the world is suffering. Why does she have to be mean about it? She might be my grandmother. Penance is certainly involved.

The sensual mammal me is dumbfounded. She’s more front-stage—eternally grateful for every last drop of The water, The love, The sunlight on the aspens, The frolicking dogs, The argument with my husband that leads to a breakthrough, The night-out in Chicago with this same beloved man, The pre-birth cartwheels, This poem from Ellen Bass, The gift of watching my mom laugh on the trampoline with my kids, The fact that I can walk and see and taste and smell.

Puntative finger lady will only let it last for so long. She’s got a time umbrella. She’s a drill sergeant and she likes that I have a lot of responsibilities to ‘worry about.’ Those are my ticket to being honorable and worthy to her. The more responsibilities the better. When life slows and the only task at hand is pleasure with nothing to “do,” she hovers over me and says, “Okay fine, soak it up for a few minutes, then back to your chronic undertone of struggle.” She must be trying to protect me from something.

How do we allow ourselves the goodness?

I know all the intellectual reasoning: we must, it’s part of the balance, feeling good is an act resistance, it’s essential, those not feeling good would be annoyed that you have the opportunity to feel good and you aren’t taking it. As one of my dear friends says, “Let it be good.”

I’m writing to you from underneath a flowering fruit tree at a coffee shop. People are chatting and eating pastries and it’s good. The sun is warm. The spring has sprung. It isn’t good everywhere for everyone—but here, at least right now, it is good for these few people around me.

Can I let it be good?

Yesterday evening after a particularly bizarre few days, I spent time with two donkeys and a late evening with my firstborn laughing our faces off about me saying ‘If I don’t go to bed, I’ll turn into a pumpkin’ which she told me was the most random thing (why a pumpkin?) she’d ever heard because she’s never head the expression. The small things. They are lovely.

Can I tolerate this goodness?

I can more and more and more.

I feel it solidly. Then I hit the trough of the wave. Then back up.

Pendulation indeed.

How about you? Let me know.

Love,