I was feeling miserable today, and trying to imagine my way out of it.
This isn’t etymologically accurate, but I thought of the word miser in miserable: one who hoards wealth. In this case, I imagined, a hoarder of terrible feelings.
What’s the opposite of somebody who hoards? One who gives away. The opposite of miserable, would be to be giverable.
Generous of spirit, giving away graciousness.
Generative, in creativity; generating abundant ideas.
Giving away truth; making it plain how one is feeling.
To be giverable would be a much more desirable state than the greedy Scroogery of misery.
But having this thought, it changed nothing.
Having a sick day allowed me to burrow into the cave of my bed, and it helped somewhat.
I decided to go for a walk, with timid steps tip-toeing down the driveway, restrained by reluctance, an anti-gravity saying “Stay home, nothing can change.”
I kept stumbling forward, into the mud and slush and along the gravel roads.
Am I off-track, in the grand swings I’ve taken at life, at the voices I’ve listened to, at the paths I’ve taken — am I simply deluded?
I found myself more than halfway around the block, and I simply drank everything in.
I noticed the sky was blue, and the sun was shining; winter was fading away. My jacket unzipped.
I noticed the wind on my face, steady, soft, unrelentingly consistent.
I noticed the whinny of a horse, a familiar refrain from a day long ago when those same sounds were sending me different messages.
I noticed I’m on a road I once saw as a symbol for no-trespassing. And here I am, fully committed.
There need be no going back. This is a new season. I’ve listened well, I’ve heeded the call. We are well into something all-new.
By the time I returned home, hardly a trace remained of the mood-miser who had stumbled down that driveway in the first place. I was finally giverable.