“So, when do you think you’ll be getting better?”
This is a conversation that I did not have with the significant she in my life. But, I have sought to create her in my writing as a sounding board. My wife is my touchstone and I rely upon her no-nonsense guidance in everything I do. Strangely, I think that she loves me. Not so strangely, I think that she somewhat despairs at me being me and the one that she chose to get married to. I don’t blame her.
“What does Happy look like?” asks my counsellor.
“Good question,” I respond after a while. “I have never thought of it like that.”
“If you don’t know what it looks like, how will you know when you get there?”
“Another good question.”
Happy looks like a Sunday morning run with your wife and daughters through wooded countryside. It involves getting out of bed and pushing oneself into suitable running gear and then finding somewhere nice to run. Trail running and the like are far more preferable to road running, as they provide old-stagers like me with something to look at and admire whilst doing one’s duty to one’s ageing frame. The empty nature of nature lends itself to a feeling of innate wellbeing, a rather clichéd oneness with the countryside and a love of relative silence. It also allows a family to bond.
Well this family, this Sunday, was not so much bonding as abandoning. Our eldest was doing a duathlon in Oxford with the university team whilst our middle one was remaining indoors to do homework and to check any social media that needed checking. My wife had had a wonderfully timed learning-walk goose-step itself into her last class of the day on Friday afternoon, so she was feeling that bed was a proper place to spend the rest of her life. That left me and our youngest.
Yet, I was full of beans; metaphorical ones.
And aren’t beans full of hot air?