Happenstance Happiness

I sat outside at dusk, no phone, no book, and no snack to distract me. I sat in a blue, plastic Adirondack chair on my deck, my feet resting on the fire pit. After a day of tense shoulders hunched over my laptop, I gave myself permission to rest my head on the back of the chair and I focused my eyes upward toward the sky.

I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the birds, the neighbors working in their garden, and a plane passing overhead. I felt the wind and breathed in the smell of warmth that summer nights bring. When I opened my eyes, I studied the top of a tree and the contrast of the bright green leaves against the blue purple gray darkening sky. I witnessed the leaves, like a troupe of dancers, moving in sync while standing out in its own uniqueness.

As I continued to look up, I considered how many times I have rested my head on a chair, or blanket, or the ground and studied a tree against the backdrop of the sky. So many times to remember and too many times to count.

I questioned how many times my children have studied a tree blowing in the wind, or listened to the sounds of birds chirping, or the neighbors working in the garden and a plane passing overhead. Just a few times to remember. Not enough times to count.

From my spot in the blue Adirondack chair on my deck, I imagined what it would be like to sit on this deck and sip a cup of coffee with the adults in my family, like my mom did, while the kids ran on the lawn, laughing yelling and playing, losing track of time as the sun sets and they only see one another's shadows. Kids being uninhibited, happily exhausted, and free, like I was as a kid.

My heart rose in my chest and caught in my throat for I am missing something I will never have. I will never get to be the adult of my childhood and my children will never get to be the younger me. I will not sit outside on a summer night and enjoy the company of my extended family, and my kids won't play with cousins who are more like siblings, because I moved away from my family a long time ago and, now my family is small, and times have changed.

Now, my children play with iPods and iPads and lap tops and their exhaustion comes from too much screen time and too much information coming at them before they can understand it all. They lose track of time, not from running around outside until the sun sets but from entering into an imaginary universe where they interact with social media influencer families who are playing pretend and send them smiley emojis when they comment or" like" posts about their imaginary lives.

"Hey!" I say to my family, "I am right here and you are, too! You don't have to watch these families because you can be a part of your own family, here and now. " My children tell me, "We don't like what you like, Mommy." I hear this every day when I ask if they'd like to take a walk, or go for a hike, or a swim, or play cards. They don't want to play with one another and I don't want to force them to because it will feel disingenuous and structured, and the best part of my childhood were the moments that unfolded organically into happenstance happiness. My mom didn't plan it. She wanted the comfort of much-needed conversation with adults and she was lucky that there were a lot of adults around her. and plenty of kids to distract her own.

While I sat on the deck, absorbing the beauty around me, my family sat inside, watching their iPods, while watching TV, while adding items to an Amazon cart and I found myself sad and lonely. I watched the leaves on the trees change from dancers to shadows to black before I walked inside and went to bed and dreamed of the smell of summer, the sound of children laughing and playing, and the feeling of being free.