Happiness is a destination, not a journey

I'm exactly where I was a year ago and it's still just as hard. It's stressful, putting this much pressure on myself. I know that this is why I chose this job, I work so well under stress and pressure, I want a job that I can devote everything to and see something in return and I definitely have that, I'm just not quite at the point I need to be at yet that will actually make this all feel ok. People keep telling me not to take on so many things and responsibilities and stresses and I smile at them and tell them I'm ok and sometimes I even believe it.

But I am happy. I'm stressed but I'm happy. I don't feel sad anymore. I didn't know that the day could come where I could be happy. I don't even remember what sad feels like and that is a major achievement for me. I've spent some time culling my life of all the things that brought me down and trying to keep the things I like. I've gotten rid of some toxic people and I've brought in some plants and teddy bears and books. So many books.

I love to read, I've always loved to read, and now I work at a place that has a library and I can just have books all the time without having to really go out of my way or like, pay for them. Libraries are miracles! Books let me have all the experiences that I don't actually want to experience. Maybe that's why I still like teen fiction so much, because I haven't had all the teen experiences yet and I feel like I need to before I move on. Maybe I'm just super immature.

I still sometimes second guess my choices. I suppose I've made the choice to forego a lot of experiences, in exchange for a number of other experiences. And I suppose that's ok. But I've always been the girl who loves options and suddenly I don't have the options anymore. I've chosen. I've never made such concrete choices before.

But here I am with a mortgage and an impending marriage and a permanent job that I can keep for the rest of my working life and it seems like things are really set in stone. I've made concrete choices. Which is fine, it's fine, I'm happy. This is happy.

Seriously, this is why I struggle so much to discipline students, I'm just so goddamn cheerful.

The days.

The days get so hard and long and exhausting.  How much longer can I do it? The question I bring to myself every few months. How long can I go without a day off before I crack? How long until I get aggressively sick beyond recovery? How long until I can't get out of bed in the morning? How long until I start crying myself to sleep every night. But every time I can go a little bit longer. And every time my body breaks in different ways.

So I make jokes. I laugh about the fact that I ask for help and receive "see you later" in response. I laugh when students set trees on fire or when they steal things or rip up their worksheets and throw them across the room at each other.

And I cry. When I find the time. I always cry. Sometimes I have a spare five minutes and I use it to cry. And maybe that's not healthy but I don't think there is a healthy solution. Everything is too hard. What do I do?

Lower my expectations. Change my mind about what I want in life.
And laugh.
Keep laughing