186

The smallest events can change your whole life.  Not that you could point back to the event itself because it becomes lost in seemingly more important events along the way, but is was, nonetheless, the snowflake that began the avalanche.

In Cecil's case, it was smaller than the Orange Julius at which he grudgingly worked.  It was smaller than the particular day on which he was at work.  It was smaller than the Mango Pineapple Julius, size medium, on which he was working.  It was, in fact, a pen.

185

Celia worked for minimum wage in a relatively new nursing home, serving and clearing meals.  It was tiring, on-your-feet work, but more than that, it tired her brain.  She didn't like thinking about death, and it hung about the place like cobwebs on forgotten boxes in the corner of an attic.  Celia thought she didn't like death, but, in truth, she didn't like the ruin of the body and the draining of the mind.  It made her remember her own grandmother, which always made her sad.  Every day she wondered why she ever went in to the place, and every day was another day still there until weeks and months had passed.

She found the residents simultaneously frightening, pitiful, and unbearably strong.  They stayed alive in bodies she would have abandoned long ago.  They lived on without hope, which Celia thought would have killed her in itself.  Perhaps she had it wrong, though, and a knock on a dinner table hinted at her misconceptions.

184

A chill breeze gusted through the kitchen window.  Maggie, on her way to the bathroom for what seemed like the tenth time that afternoon, shivered as it raised the hairs on her arm.  Detouring, she went to lower the sash, but paused, her throbbing bladder taking a backseat to the scene in her neighbor's driveway.

183

Long ago and far away there was a land that is no more.  Its location is not marked on maps.  Its name is not written in the history books.  The bloodlines of its people is scattered and thin.  But every so often, there is a thought.  A tiny thought bubbles up in the mind of a person whose blood contains those thin markers of the people of that land, and that thought is a breeze on his skin, or a color in her eye, or a name on the tips of their tongues.

182

How life goes up and down on such small events.  Not even "events"--just things.  Up, and all is great and years of happiness lie in the future of sunshine and warm breezes.  Down, and nothing is ever good and nothing every will be good in the endless, pointless, cheerless moments that make up a future unwanted.  A simple change of perspective based on a glance from a stranger.  A barrage of self-loathing after a minor failure in the kitchen.  A dropped dish.  An overcooked meal.  A heavy cloak of hopelessness when a to-do list remains undone, down to the last, easy chore.

It's a wonder life continues at all.

181

I know what I will look like when I am old.  My eyes have acquired time travel, and I can see it.  I can see the skin, thinning and wrinkling into a thousand tiny creases on my face, my arms, my legs, my belly.  I can see my bones protruding, knuckles swelling, muscles weakening.  My skin is discolored with age spots, nicks and scars, and is blue with veins and bruises.  My shoulders roll forward and I will move stiffly and sit, one arm stiff, one hip raised.  I see my friends and family deteriorating faster and faster.  Buildings age before my eyes even faster than the humans.  I see other things, too.  Things I don't understand and that don't seem to concern me.  I know these are the things I will shake my gray head at, careful not to turn too far.  The eyes of my mind see through future time, too, and I can see how it will turn back to the memories of my past.  I know which experiences I will recount over and over.  I know what I will regret and what I will cherish.  Time travel is heavy.  It weighs on a body.  My eyes get a far-away look that has nothing to do with vagueness of sight or cataracts.  It is time travel.

180

You are allowed to be happy ALL the time.

Many of you who read the opening sentence scoffed, most consciously and many more unconsciously.  You may have thought, "Yes, but..."  But, what?  But, you're not always happy?  True, but you are allowed to be happy all the time.  You can be.  You may be.  It is a possibility, and it comes without any caveats.  "Yes, but..."  But, what this time?  But if you're happy now, there's bound to be unhappiness later?

Why?

Remind yourself, "I am allowed to be happy ALL the time."  There is infinite happiness allowed to you.  It doesn't need to be balanced by unhappiness.  A happy time is not waiting for an unhappy time.  A happy time doesn't mean you'll need to "pay" for it later.  You can just be happy.

If you're finding this idea difficult, not to worry--I found it difficult, too.  I sometimes still find it difficult, but I keep reminding myself that I may freely and truly be happy and not worry that it will come to an end.  Repeat it to yourself, and soon you will believe, and you will be freer than you have felt in a long time, or maybe ever!  Be happy.  No one is unhappy because you are happy.  As a matter of fact, your happiness will make even more people happy.

This book will take you through exercises to find your happiness, keep your happiness and spread happiness.  This book will also remind you over and over:

Yes.  You are allowed to be happy.  All.  The.  Time.