On Saturday, I ran in the #Happiest5k with the only other person I know who would call the dry paint "pixie dust." After the last two weeks in Florida, it was certainly something to spend two hours commuting between boroughs. I'd forgotten that trains didn't travel at twice the speed of light. I also realized that maybe it's true: I do over-romanticize this concrete jungle home of mine. At the end of the day, a stick is just a stick, a grass hut is just a grass hut, and skyscrapers don't really scrape the sky at all.
But they make a dent.
And sometimes they block the view of our dreams.
The Color Run filled CitiField with a startling number of bodies and tutus (I was ill-prepared for all the fluorescent tulle). The theme of these runs is happiness- so, naturally, the race had two rules: Never stop dancing and never stop smiling. Those are my rules for everyday life (which usually get me into trouble) and, putting bliss into every moment created a eutopian society, covered in rainbows.
Even though the Boy called me "filthy" later in the day, when the colors settled into a dreary grey, I felt radiant! I didn't realize I'd missed running so much. Granted, the labyrinthian miles constructed from safety cones and blue footprints wasn't quite the wide open spaces I long for, in this claustrophobic city, but it gave off the illusion of space. You could raise your arms like wings and soar a'la airplane across the rainbow sky (and, of course, I did). It brought to light a question or two about happiness.
Days later, I'm still on a high-and I don't think it's because of the paint fumes. But my cup runneth over with the things that go unanswered. I've been sitting here for days, pondering the proper way to verbalize my questions about happiness. On how to be happy. On why, at the Color Run, it's okay to dance ridiculously and lay on the floor, uninhibited, extending and retracting like children making snow angles, on the hard, paint covered road. On why we shower off the paint and fastened our inhibitions back to our clean chests and return to business as usual.
At the Color Run, they give you a swag bag replete with exercise band and temporary tattoos. Naturally, I covered the top of my arm with a giant purple HAPPY. What I didn't expect was the reaction my temporary tattoo elicited.
THE THREE STEP REACTION:
Granted, I would never actually get HAPPY tattooed onto my arm. But why does "happy" bother people so much more than the other words I've seen tattooed? Why are we so afraid to be happy? So many of us keep up walls and push away the things that bring them joy. Because they don't feel like they deserve it- because they fear happiness will be short-lived. I don't want to live that way.
Live every day like the #Happiest5k
I'm determined to make #HappinessOk
This is Me:
My name's Melissa. I'm the girl with her hands in her journal.