Tiny single servings of joy

You know when you move house and someone says: “They reckon it’s the most stressful thing you can do after…”

Well there’s a longer list. I’ve ticked off about six of them in the past two years. Some of them more than once. One of them three times. All against the backdrop of a global pandemic.

I’d soldiered on for about a year before I collapsed. Not a breakdown, I was still functioning. I might even have seemed normal but I couldn’t process anything. My head was so full I kept losing information. I couldn’t remember things that had just happened. I couldn’t focus, sometimes literally. I blinked at screens and bright lights.

And then I got chest pains so bad I thought my daughter was about to be orphaned. The hospital told me it was stress and they found me someone to talk it all through with.

I slowly emptied my head. I talked and sobbed and talked some more. Chatting online with a very kind lady who didn’t make me feel like such a loser.

By the time we did our last session, I was in a new job.

And there I was on the screen. Wearing a nice shirt, in a smart boardroom. Shaved, bright-eyed and business-like. It seemed I was mended.

“You look well,” the counsellor said.

And I was. Mostly.

Life is pretty grey but maybe that’s the default.

I’m still unable to read, watch a movie or even a 30-minute sitcom. My attention span is awful but it’s more than that. I find myself hating the characters, the writers, and all involved within seconds. Everything seems so fake. I really don’t know why.

For a few months back there, I always felt in danger of bursting into tears. Now, for some strange reason, it’s more positive feelings that overwhelm me. In particular the inspiration of everyday, real-world kindness.

Queuing up for my booster, I chatted with the old bloke volunteering. He’d been there for months, helping thousands get their jabs. I told him he was a hero… I was in pieces.

Last week, I bumped into the teacher who took my daughter for extra reading. I had to rush a heartfelt thank you before I caved.

The week before, when the school was due to strike, they rang and told me that because of my circumstances, they were still able to take my kid. I said I supported their fight and it was okay — I’d manage. But I could hardly get the words out. I wanted to take my turn to help them.

The world is full of heroes and I find it overwhelming.

I bawled, literally sobbed, yesterday at a viral movie of a whole school of kids in Newcastle singing the Blaydon Races.

I imagined the teachers who had patiently taught them the words. The mums and dads who’d sourced black and white outfits for their kids. The effort and love that had gone into making these kids feel safe and happy.

And that’s how joy hits me now, in tiny single servings.

Singing in the car with my daughter.

School pick-ups when she rushes into my arms

A big weekend meal cooked and shared.

A bedtime that goes perfectly — from storybook to hugs, lights out and love you!

Love you too Daddy

For some reason, I adore the fast walk across town between train station and office with headphones on.

Played this on Thursday and wished I was carrying a tin of paint.

I love being in the office. Love my colleagues. Occasionally they even make me feel smart and funny.

So, how do I make these little, intense good bits spread outwards and upwards and take away all the rest of the grey?

How do I push on from just getting by?

How do I take inspiration from all the heroes out there?

How do I get happy all the time?