I'm really glad I still have to do my August Happiness Challenge post, because today I need to be reminded of the joy in my life.
I'm fine. Not delighted. Not delirious. All the physical complaints and money woes that plagued me yesterday are still here. But I'm fine. I'm good. I am, by and large, happy.
But today I have been confronted by sadness all day long and it's weighing on me. What is my responsibility in all this? Should I be doing more?
First, the double-edged sword. The day started with a Big Announcement. After months of intense competition, the agency I work for was awarded a very large piece of very high-profile business. While I'm not directly effected, I can still rejoice because it makes layoffs less likely. Yea! Also, lots of young people at the very beginning of their careers worked so hard and this success must mean the world to them. BUT I can't help thinking about the agency that lost. Our Big Boss warned us all not to "be jerks and assholes on social media." He's so right. At another agency, on the other side of town, people were wondering if they'd be employed come Christmas. This is my (gulp!) 35th year in advertising and I know that this is the way it works. I accept it. But it still makes me sad. Even when the economy is good, there is not enough work to go around.
Then there's Katie. Poor Katie. A dear and sensitive girl, an expectant mother. She's taking this week off to be with her brother.
He'd been undergoing treatment at the Mayo Clinic for cancer but they released him. Not because he's better. I worry about Katie and the baby she's carrying.
Then there was the guy on the train. I try to remember the homeless I encounter on street corners. But I hate it when people solicit for funds on the el. It's a confined area and there's something so intrusive and almost hostile about it. Today this man started reciting his tale of woe -- about diabetes and needing cash for gauze and a bandage. I didn't raise my eyes from my book. I didn't hear any of my fellow rush hour passengers reaching into their wallets, either. So I was sure it was a scam. Then he walked in front of me, on his way to the next car. Oh. My. God. His pant leg was rolled up and if I really saw what I thought I saw, part of his calf was
missing. Gouged away! And I couldn't be bothered to look up! I'm haunted.
Then there's Pervy Walt at the end of the hall. A box of his belongings is just sitting in front of his door. Looks like linens and clothes. I have no idea what's going on, but I'm sure it's not good. He's 90 and alone, with health problems. My first impulse is to ask him if he needs help,
but because of Walt's "issue" with me, that's not a good idea. Still, it makes me desperately sad.
And here I am, a cat by my side, watching Kris Bryant slide into home. I am so lucky to be happy. I feel very guilty about it.
