Even the Sparrows
On my way to pick up a car for the journey to my niece's birthday party, I stopped at a nearby coffeeshop for a bagel and cream cheese. Like most Saturdays when I'm either too busy or too tired to make lunch, I had hardly eaten all day. I sat outside in the shade of an umbrella, watching the cars stream through the busy intersection while I carefully spread cream cheese on every inch of the bread. Absentmindedly, I stopped to toss a nearby sparrow a soft pinch of my bagel. The bird grabbed the crumb and worked it around in its beak, before flying up to the top of a nearby Metrolink sign.
The day was one of those days that is saturated in beauty. The air was warm, with a breeze. The sun shined like the sun usually does, with or without clouds, and there was sufficient shade under the newly leafed trees. I had no money worries. My family is safe and well. On an empty stomach, the bliss of a cinnamon raisin bagel with abundant cream cheese felt miraculous. I watched the people sitting around me. There was a family with friends chatting nearby; at one point a father admonished his son that this was "face time" and not to be engrossed in his phone. Two young people were working on their laptops. A homeless man across the street begged for change from the line of cars.
The sparrow returned. I pinched off another soft bit of bread and it was snatched up immediately to be flown to the Metrolink sign. This time, I realized I heard tiny baby chirps and saw tufts of a nest poking out from where the sparrow disappeared. In hopes that the bird would return, I pulled out a few more pinches of bagel and set them aside, while chewing slowly on my own portions. I thought about how hard it was to live on a poverty-level income for four years. Money, or the lack thereof, was constantly in the back of my mind, like a haunting dream I couldn't shake. Money is not the path to happiness, but not having enough with which to cover one's basic survival needs is, frankly, horrible. Humiliating. Scary. My heart hurts that people experience this lack all around me, across the street, in my neighborhood, my city, the world.
Poverty induces many stressful, unhappy circumstances, but it did not completely steal my happiness. I wondered if there was a cap at which having a lot of money would start bringing as much stress as having too little. Finally having "enough" to not only cover my basic life expenses, but also to buy dinner for people for fun, give money away as I desire, see a movie in a theatre once every few months, have enough to save, and to pay off debt, has improved my overall health and well-being to a drastic extent. I felt thankful for this change of scenery, and, content. If I make more money at some point, or come into gobs of money somehow, it will just be a faster path to being debt free, or broaden my ability to give, or free up time to stay home and write or do artwork.
In my poor years, and now in my "enough" years, I have decided that happiness is something that is a lot of work. It is a choice, not something that happens "to" me. I have to choose happiness each day, regardless of how much or how little money is available. And I don't mean I put on a happy face every day. No. For me, happiness is choosing to live- healing from the past, connected to the moment, and in hope for the future. When things are hard and sad, I cry. When I need money, I work. When I need rest, I rest. When I am angry about a broken facet of society, or discouraged about the lack of interesting job prospects, or frustrated with the lack of husband prospects, I acknowledge my feelings and then think of a way to enact change. Happiness for me, is choosing to make meaningful habits. Being out in nature is important to me, so I take a walk or sit in my doorway or plan a canoe trip. I generally feel happy around my family, so I attend my niece's birthday party. I attend concerts, or art shows, and sing in as many arenas as I am offered, and search actively for more, because those gifts and activities mean a lot to me. Our American idea of "the pursuit of happiness" implies action. To pursue- to strive towards or follow after in the hopes of catching!
Having more money won't make the flowers along the sidewalk more beautiful. Giving up all the money you have will not bring lost loved ones back from the grave. Having little money doesn't make feeding a bird any less special. We give money too much power. Having money, or not having money, doesn't change my love for writing, music, dance, and art. It may restrict or add to the ways I pursue them, but it doesn't impinge on the inherent happiness I feel when doing them. The sparrow doesn't have any money, and yet, it ate some bagel today.
The bird flew down right to my toes at least six more times, always returning to the little nest above my head. Unafraid, it seemed to expect me to dispense more goodies and did a funny semi-outstretched shrug with its wings as it landed, like a little bow. I happily obliged. The other patrons must have been watching me, because at one point I searched at my feet to find the bird who I was sure had just landed. The man near me said, "He's behind you!" So, I looked, and the bird walked around to my right. Little sparrow must have met its quota, because it soon stopped returning. My bagel was gone anyway. As I walked towards the parking lot, I felt happy. It was a delight to think that a tiny creature came to me, this imposing, giant creature in comparison, for food. The bird did nothing to earn my bagel portions. It did not speak to me in flowery language to boost my ego and entice me to help it. (In fact, it didn't speak at all. Not even a chirp.) I thought, maybe, just maybe, God feels this same delight in giving to me, as I did in giving to the bird. He may perchance, think I'm just as cute too, my little self coming to his Massive Majesty for my daily crumbs. The idea contrasted sharply against the usual austere images of God, and it surprised me with a rising twinge of hope. A little bit more happiness was added to my day.
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