Morning Thoughts on Happiness

If we are unable to recognize the beauty and gifts that take form in the humdrum events of our daily lives, can we say we know happiness? 

or to pose my question more bluntly: If I can’t even be happy with the things I already have, how certain can I be that I’ll be happy once I get the thing(s) I’m chasing after?

I recall three excerpts from writers whose words and pieces I look back to often, that give my mind’s thoughts on happiness [or rather the precipice between discontentment and happiness] more flesh.

Marcel Proust, 20th century writer

“Once he had been dazzled by this opulent depiction of what he called mediocrity, this appetizing depiction of a life he had found insipid, this great art of nature he had thought paltry, I should say to him: Are you happy?

When you walk around a kitchen, you will say to yourself, this is interesting, this is grand, this is beautiful like a Chardin.”

and Charles de Montesquieu, French judge and philosopher of the 18th century

“If one only wished to be happy, this could be easily accomplished; but we wish to be happier than other people, and this is always difficult, for we believe others to be happier than they are.”

Lastly, we have the thoughts of 20th century English writer, philosopher, lay theologian, and literary and art critic, G.K. Chesterton, contemplating on the habits of the one, great thinker:

“But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun.; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic monotony that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never gotten tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”


the way you hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me
Feels so holy, holy, holy, holy, holy
on God
Runnin’ to the altar like a track star
Can’t wait another second
‘Cause the way you hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me, hold me feels so holy

My 22 year old self’s dream came true_8.26.2020

I’ve always wanted something beyond kitchen for wine.

It didn’t have to be as grand as a large wine cellar, but I always nursed a desire for something, anything. Living in NYC did not afford the space for me to even consider an addition; my living spaces had every remaining nook and cranny filled with clothes, art supplies, books, and objects that held memories).When I was 18, I developed a fascination and passion for drinkware and flatware and when I turned 21 and started drinking more, I got really interested in wine. A good glass of wine reads like music to me :). From then until my early 20s, I would eagerly and unceasingly save up money to buy a cup & saucer here, a wine glass there, a pricey wine bottle, sometimes, and visit any exhibition within my reach that I could go to that had *anything* to do with the home (which is how I came to discover my lesser passions!: Learning about factories, artisans, signature marks, and history: Vincennes, Sevres, and Meissen, premier porcelain makers and craftsmanship hubs of the 18th century), ceramics, and porcelain.
While I am not a wine expert by any means, I know what I like and enthusiastically look up wines, producers, and new methods in viniculture that spark my interest when I have the time: I have a firm love for Cabernet Sauvignon wines, and I’m very partial to seeking out wines from the Paso Robles, Côte du Rhones, and Beaujolais Villages regions. If someone I know recommends me a wine from there, I will almost always search for it the day or the week of :). And… thanks to my love of wine and drinkware, I am proud to say that at this point in time, my sisters and parents all have glasses that are Susan approved.🙂

In my dream home I would have a floor dedicated for a wine cellar, but having this trolley alone makes me content and grateful. I didn’t need this, but I’m grateful to have the space now and the ability to get something that brings me a whole lot of joy :).

A Poem: “Naturally”

trauma is a scary thing

You think it’s gone,

but then you find it lingering

where the nails meet skin

the sharp things live

where the speedometer runs high.

when the loud sounds ring.