I am getting ready to submit an essay to a national magazine. Writers are generally slutty in the manner of submitting just to get published and to stay relevant. I do have standards. Like, I won’t submit to Popular Mechanics. This particular essay wants to know about the happiest moment of my life. That sounds easy. I mean, seriously, the normal person would write about their wedding or the birth of their children. My wedding was a four star shit show, so I will pass on that one and the birth of my children, well, one was born with a disability while the other screamed for four years. The happiest moment of both of their births was when some angel forgot to turn off my epidural so I was numb for an extra twelve hours. That was happy.
Before you all get judgmental on me, I will say they are both delightful boys who bring lots of joy to my life. I just wasn’t one of those glowing mothers who adored being pregnant or shoving a full human out of a confined area. I feel like my happiest moments are sprinkled throughout my life. There isn’t really a defining one. I would like to think that moments don’t make you happy they simply enhance the feeling of bliss that already exists.
So, now you can probably see my dilemma. There is a $3000 prize associated with this essay, so it needs to be believable. It needs to be authentic. So, I will continue to ponder that defining moment that made me so happy. Maybe it was the first time I stood in front of the Vatican pinching myself as I never thought I would go to Europe. Maybe it was the day I dropped off Bailey for his first day of work as I never thought anyone would open their hearts let along their doors to him. Maybe it was just this past Saturday night when I danced and jumped around, not caring what anyone thought, but also testing out my one year old knee replacement and feeling young again. These are the blips of moments that simply enhance my established happiness. At least I have a selection.