Recently, I've been thinking a lot about my happy places. After a particuluarly emotionally rough semester, thinking of these places and situations always puts a smile on my face, no matter where I am.
A "happy place" doesn't necessarily have to be a location. All my happy places involve much more than existing somewhere. For example, right now, I'm laying in bed in my Mission Hill apartment, Christmas lights on, incense burning, Beatles YouTube playlist running in another tab. And I'm happy. All of me is here, and none of me is aching to be anywhere else.
I've come to realize that some of these places are tangible, and others no longer are. One of my favorite places to be is at the Todd Farm Flea Market with my mom, as I mentioned in an earlier post. It doesn't matter if I find anything cool (although it rules whenever I do), as long as I'm there on an early Sunday morning with my mom and an iced coffee from Dunks. Another is my living room at home in winter, with a fire burning, my dad in his chair watching American Pickers or The Andy Griffith Show or a Harry Nilsson documentary. Another is in the kitchen when I was little, while my parents cleaned the house top to bottom with They Might Be Giants or The Beatles blasting on the stereo. Or taking a hike on Old Towne Hill with my mom, dad and little brother in the fall. Or making dinner with my mom and watching a Woody Allen movie until we fall asleep. Or playing "war" with my little brother and our old friends when I was 8 years old by throwing stuffed animals at each other from my top bunk. Or sneaking onto the Newburyport High School bleachers with my best friend Erin every summer to stargaze and talk about life and how nuts it is that we exist.
It's comforting to know that I'll always have these places to look back on when I need to.