There are moments when words become unnecessary. The shocked expression on my wife Trude’s face when our Boston daughter burst through our Bainbridge Island front door last Thursday, with our Seattle daughter close behind, said everything.
Disbelief. Joy. Love.
For the first time since our 17-year-old grandson and 14-year-old granddaughter arrived on planet Earth, just the four of us—Trude, Megan, Jamie and I—were together again.
It was magical.
And…I was fully present for it.
I wasn't standing outside the experience watching myself have it. I wasn't worrying about what might happen next, examining some physical sensation, replaying an old hurt or waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I wasn't asking, “Why can't I enjoy this?”
I was just enjoying it. Happy in my own skin.
For someone who has struggled with trauma and depression, that's no small feat.
Speaking of sadness, I wrote an essay with the ironic title I Was Never Happy Being Depressed. It described a strange thing about depression: even when everything is going relatively well, you can still be miserable. Two years ago, I had a wife, daughters and grandkids I adored. Friends. Writing. Music. But at the same time, my emotional bathtub started to overflow.
Fortunately, Buddhism and therapy have carried me through these very dark places, helping me summon courage and find meaning. Along the way, I’ve learned that thoughts and feelings aren’t necessarily facts. I can notice anxiety without becoming anxious. My sadness doesn’t have to define everything else.
Perhaps most important, I can experience happiness without interrogating it.
Don't Miss This
That's what struck me during Trude’s glorious 75th birthday weekend. Nothing overtly profound was happening, yet everything happening felt profound.
We talked. Laughed. Ate. Shared memories. Our daughters teased us. We embarrassed them.
Then Trude and I saw Keb' Mo' and Taj Mahal perform live. What a treat!
The old Mike might have immediately started analyzing the weekend. Why am I feeling so good? How long will this last? What if I say something inappropriate?
Should I put this green bean up my nose to make them laugh?
Instead, I told myself, “Don't miss this.”
So, I didn't.
Daisaku Ikeda (1928–2023) frequently emphasized that happiness isn't something waiting for us after our problems have been solved. It’s about developing an inner condition strong enough to create value amid changing circumstances.
For much of my life, happiness was something abstract that I desperately needed to achieve. Now I realize it has more to do with our capacity to receive and enjoy what is already here.
This requires presence—what behavioral therapy calls mindfulness and Buddhism calls bringing forth our enlightened nature in the present moment.
Whatever we call it: This moment is the only one in which we’re actually living.
Living Without Listening for the Shoe
Of course, at 76, I know there will be difficult days ahead. That's the deal I signed when I was born. There will be illness. Loss. Change. Anxiety. Aging. Death.
But…there will also be surprise visits from our daughters. Birthday cakes. Old family jokes. Music.
A wife I've loved since we were teenagers who screams when her “little” girls walk through the front door.
And occasionally, if I'm paying attention, this extraordinary realization: I'm okay as I am.
Perhaps the other shoe will eventually drop. If it does, I’ll meet it. But I no longer spend time listening for it.
