Finding a Place Called Happy

As usual my passion for reading has sent me down yet another thinking trail. This morning I am intrigued and haunted once again by something that I've heard a thousand times or more in various ways. An article in Lake Norman Magazine by Jen Aronoff details the story of how Shawna Robinson, NASCAR driver turned designer, has found her happy place. Speaking of this change in Shawna's life direction, a friend quotes "I think she's started to listen to herself inside". And off I go......

I have been trying to listen to my inside self for an entire lifetime. Just about the time I think I have myself figured out something comes along that derails the whole process. I suppose that in reality, like many women, I feel drawn towards something I cannot quite name or frame. Something deep inside is longing for expression...and oh yes, can I make a living this way?

I am nearly supernaturally attracted to books and articles that explain how to discover and live out the passion that resides deep within. My bookshelf groans under the weight of these books, torn magazine pages and journals that testify to my seemingly never ending journey. Among these archives there must surely be a clue as to who I really am at my core and how that core self can live out the purpose for which I was created.

What fascinates me the most about Shawna and people like her is that they have discovered how to do what they are and it's expression is bringing a depth of life satisfaction that is both tangible and visible. Pilgrims, that is exactly the place to which I am drawn.

The revealing thing about all this is that I may have stumbled upon the who of me while reading about the how of others. Turns out I might be closer than I ever imagined to my own happy place. As a Life Coach I invest a lot of time in helping clients listen to the differences between what they are saying and how they are living. My insatiable desire for listening and learning has proven to be a great gift as I weed through unabridged stories in search of what matters most.

One of my favorite pictures of younger me displays this calling even then. I am stretched out on a favorite chair and ottoman, backwards and stomach down with legs crossed and feet in the air. My elbows prop up the skinny arms that hold the book into which my nose is pressed. What am I reading? Who knows or cares. The point is that in this picture I am doing what I am. I am an information gatherer with a passionate love for learning. I do not care about passing a test to prove that I have learned anything. I will have passed the test on the day I use this information to help someone find the happy place, myself included.

Now...if I can only figure out how to market this gift in a way that brings life to others and livelihood to me. Gotta' go now. Barnes and Noble is calling my name. I'll be in the marketing section if you need me! My happy place indeed.

Not the Cinderella

It occurred to me recently that I've spent much of my life not being Cinderella. In spite of many really great opportunities for such moments to occur, the pumpkin did not turn into a carriage, there has been no fairy godmother, no ball to attend with the proper gown and no glass slippers made just for me. But then, I've also not had to deal with a wicked step-mother and her evil daughters or wear rags while sweeping cinders from the fireplace.



Somewhere in life it dawned on me that being Cinderella was not all it was cracked up to be when I heard the story as a little girl. I loved seeing Cindy become a Princess who married the Prince of her dreams. However, I never found the book that described how the rest of her life turned out. Someone should really write that story...because I suspect that it would look much more like the reality that most of us face every day. The car breaks down, children rebel, dinner burns and it rains on my frizzy head. And that's only Monday. Who in the world has time to think about gowns and slippers and princes when trying to tread through the waters of daily crisis?



I suppose within each of us there beats the heart of a Cinderella dreamer. We live for that one shining moment when we are the most beautiful one at the ball, the glass slipper fits, and the prince only has eyes for us. Perfect hair, perfect dress, perfect shoes and perfect man. Does it really ever get any better than a moment like that?



As it turns out the answer is a resounding yes! I've come to realize that my practical wardrobe is exactly what I need to tread water. A gown would only weigh me down - and who needs added weight? Glass slippers would simply not work at all when trying to push a broken down vehicle out of the way. A good hair life would be nice but honestly, who cares about hair when your child is screaming for the first time I hate you.



Come to think of it, not being Cinderella has its benefits. The man I married is not a prince but he treats me like a queen. Our current home is not a castle but we have lovingly christened it "Sanctuary". My wardrobe is not suited for extravagant balls, but it works quite well for chasing grandchildren and wayward pets. I'm really a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl anyway.



Cinderella, I'm not. Happy, I am. Because I've traded in my pumpkin-carriage-rags-to-riches fairy tale for reality. My life is real, it's simple and it works for me. Cinderella had one shining moment. Me? I've got it all....and then some.