It’s safe to say that with just five months of learning to live without Claire I still have a lot to figure out. Some days I’m fine, able to focus on work, finish sentences like a normal person and remember to cook dinner with enough time to cook dinner. Other days I stare at the beautiful spaghetti spoon that was gifted to us for our wedding that we’ve seldom used and weep. Claire had a hard time swallowing the long thin noodles, so we all ate penne. Now we can have whatever we want and that is a weird sort of overwhelming.

I’m finding it oddly comfortable, the pain and sadness. Much like my favorite dress, that looks like it might be uncomfortable but the material is forgiving and it has pockets! I’d be willing to wear it to anything, not just for special occasions. I’m left wondering, why is it that these emotions sometimes feel like failure? Who decided that happiness was the goal?

I haven’t come up with any answers but the more space I have to sit with myself, the more I am comfortable with the hard. The moments where things come easy seem strange, perhaps it’s just the 15 years of fighting for each step. Maybe the easy stuff is just less rewarding because it’s easy and that’s alright too.

There’s probably a lot of people that will disagree with me, and maybe I won’t always feel this way but I am just going to put this out because it might resonate with somebody.

I don’t think happiness is a great goal.

Sure, it’s alright, but I’m taking it out of the top things I am trying to do with my life. What if instead of seeking happiness, we worked toward being content, at peace or just feeling alive? I think that’s a better fit for me. Now days I dream of living in a world where when somebody asks how I am doing, I can say that I hurt and they don’t feel obligated to take it away or make it better. Hard is just hard, it isn’t failure. In fact, being able to feel the hard stuff is a sort of superpower in the world we live in. If you are hurting, you aren’t alone and I’m proud of you.