I don't need a magic cottage
In my early 20’s, I found the work of Sabrina Ward Harrison and subsequently, SARK. Lovely, lovely work from both of them. One of SARK’s books in particular, Eat Mangoes Naked, captivated me. “Eat mangoes naked. Lick the juices from your arms,” I believe it said.
And I thought, “Okay, I’ll feel kind of stupid doing that. But yes! Let’s try it! It sounds like she’s pretty happy.”
I wanted that kind of happy. I wanted whimsical. I wanted something divorced from my overly analytic mind. I wanted something that would have me feeling carefree and uninhibited. She had the answer!
I tried it one day. I was naked. I ate some mangoes. I didn’t feel happy or powerful.
I just felt…naked. A little more “bulgy” than I’d have liked. Kind of cold.
And also? Sticky from all of that mango juice.
There was this entire period of my life where, if someone else reported that something they did made them happy, I wanted to do it as well. I listened intently to other people’s meditation plans, fitness plans, eating plans, creativity plans. I carefully plotted out schedules of how I’d orchestrate my days to integrate all of these things that I thought I needed for balanced living. I dreamed of owning a “magic cottage” just like SARK’s.
Many a decent apartment I have turned down simply because something about the place wasn’t visually inspiring enough. And many a “visually inspiring” place I have lived in, only to find that it didn’t really feel like a home. Like the amazing Victorian place I lived in that one time complete with a cupola…that also had a leaking roof. Or that other amazing place with that green marble fireplace and gorgeous hardwood floors…with the horrible downstairs neighbors, and the guy who parked his motorcycle right outside and revved it up every morning at 5am.
In other words, sometimes my ideals about what would make me happy were just ideals—in practical reality, they didn’t pan out. My idealism undermined my ability to see what actually really ddi make me happy.
The thing is, I needed to find my own path to happy. We all do. It’s great to take cues from others (certainly it was Elizabeth Gilbert who inspired my initial attraction to Italy and studying Italian, and that has panned out well for me). But in the end, I don’t need a magic cottage. I still don’t have any desire to eat mangoes naked.
(And here’s the place where I make a point of saying that I think SARK’s ideas are lovely and I appreciate and honor her for sharing them, especially if it inspires others. I’m not knocking her, or magic cottages, or naked mango eating! I even interviewed her for the Courageous Living® Program.)
I think we find the path to happy by trying lots of things and noticing what we gravitate towards. In the end, the things that make us happy are the things we love in spite of the sacrifices it demands.
When I was younger, because of my idealism or because other people made such-and-such activity look so great, I thought that what other people were so happy doing, was what I was “supposed” to be doing.
In the end, my happiness looks like a strange hodgepodge of cultures and customs, from the Sanskrit tattooed on my body, to the learning Italian even though it would be so much more practical to learn Spanish. I prefer staying in with a book to going out with others, most days. I gravitate towards integrity and accountability and discipline whereas for others that feels too rigid. I want to keep typing even when my fingers hurt, I love writing that much. I want to stay in Italy for long periods, despite the frustrations of language barriers and expense. I’m more motivated to go to hot yoga than any other kind of yoga. I’m obsessed with CrossFit to the point that I rarely have to “motivate myself” to do a workout.
Questions to consider:
What does your version of happiness look like?
And have you ever thought that something was going to be “your thing,” only to surprise yourself with the realization that, in fact, it’s not a fit?
What did you learn from those times?