The Bluebird of Happiness

Back in LA after a long weekend in Little Rock, AR and then the Ozark Mountains. The drive from LR to Springfield, MO takes you through some of the prettiest country you'll ever see. Hawks glide through cerulean skies (That's a $10 word and this is Dollar Store country, but it's the only one I know that even comes close.) Roads snake through cuts blasted into bedrock, stories to infinity and beyond written in layers. Rivers run. Life abides.

Flying out last Thursday, I read The Happiness Project. (Yeah, I know. A little behind the times. Reading is another thing that got lost in the big push that resulted in my move to LaLa Land.) Driving around, hanging with my peeps, I thought, "This. This is what makes me happy. These mountains and these people and this life. I could be happy here." I thought how nice it would be to retire back in the mountains, "from whence commeth my strength." I savored the wide open space, the deep green foliage, the rhythm of the life and the language.

Back in LA this morning, I started the day with a 20-minute walk for coffee. Air perfumed with year-round flowers. Streets lined with palm trees. A barista greets me by name and starts my favorite drink when she sees me open the door. Words from Abraham Lincoln come to mind, "Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."

Actual bluebirds are native to the Ozarks, but the bluebird of happiness thrives wherever you nurture it. This late-in-life adventure needs a unique backdrop. The landscape here is not the landscape imprinted on my heart and mind, but it is gorgeous in its own way. I am so blessed to be here now. Gratitude for the life I have is what makes me happy.