Your Very Own Happiness

If you want to see me shoot around the room backward with flames pouring out of my nose, just tell me, “We are each responsible for our own happiness.” I’m not sure why I get all riled up at this phrase, but I suspect it has something to do with representing myriad foster children who went from lousy homes to lousy foster homes (maltreatment in foster homes is estimated conservatively at 25% of placements), while being told they should be grateful to have any roof over their heads. Or it has to do with rampaging cow elephant menstrual cramps for which no medication was supposedly effective until I was well into adulthood and then it was available only with a prescription. I am talking “pass out from the pain” cramps. Every month from age twelve. Or it has do with South Sudan, Gaza, on and on and on. I do believe that I am responsible for accepting and managing my feelings. I am responsible for my actions. I am responsible, if I’m miserable, for trying to change that. I type those…