I like to think I’m a happy person.
I laugh loudly, and usually inappropriately. So much so that I’m definitely going to Hell.
When I smile, it comes from my whole body; I can feel it, literally, in my toes.
I have a smile for everybody (unless you seriously piss me off) and have no problem with handing them out to anyone and everyone I pass in the street. I don’t even have to meet them, just walk by.
For the record, I hate my smile. I’m not one of those blonde, sunny people, with a mouthful of straight teeth that sparkle when they smile, even on overcast days.
No, my smile makes my chubby cheeks squish my eyes up and cause them to vanish into my head. I have thin lips that are slightly wonky and … well, it’s not terribly becoming. I often wonder if people really get how big my smile is, or if I just scare them a lot.
I hate my smile, but I love to smile. In a face that’s not really designed to convey just how big the smile really is.
(I also like to think that my laugh is one that others a drawn to describe as “infectious”. Unfortunately, it sounds remarkably like a demented chicken and causes people to stop laughing and give me a funny look. It is also possible that’s not all due to the sound of my laugh, but what I’m actually laughing at; generally something inappropriate where laughing is just uncalled for. Still, I’d like to think of it as “an infectious laugh.)
It’s also my downfall.
It gets me into more trouble than … well, I was going to say “than it’s worth” but I think every smile is worth loads, so that statement doesn’t really work.
It is, to one extent, a facade; the facade that tells the world that I’m not just ok, I’m doing great.
On the other side of the fence, it is just me, just who I am, just what I do.
The facade is hurting me though, it’s making me tired … oh, so tired.
My smile is a genuine gift, to be felt as much as seen, to be taken and used to make your day better, to show you I love you or to convey a gratitude that you have done something to make me happy.
When I smile I mean it.
How am I going, you might ask.
“Fantastic!” I reply. The smile is real, the response isn’t always.
Fantastic, you see, is the image I want to project to the world; the intention I am setting for my day; the kind of day I am ‘attracting’ and, therefore, the kind of day I will have.
It is a little bit of fake it till you make it and law of attraction and your day will go the way your mouth points.
Yes, I’ve read the books, I have done the business and personal development courses and seminars, I’ve listened to the gurus and the positive thinkers and those who have no idea how to handle someone with depression.
Fantastic is what I want my day to be, the reply I can give you when I send out a proposal and it comes back to me and the response to “how did your day go?”
Fantastic is a cover, a disguise, a mask, although the best of intentions is there.
I don’t want to be seen as inadequate, to be seen as one who is unreliable and doesn’t do as they promise.
I don’t want people to assume that I can’t cope, or that they are putting pressure on me. I don’t want decisions to be made on my behalf without my having any say in them; or even being aware that an opportunity was there for me in the first place.
I’m tired of hearing how things will all work out in the end, to trust, that there is a ‘reason’ or that ‘the Universe’ has bigger/better things for me … they’re just around the corner, if I just think positive it will all happen as I intend.
I’m tired of hearing how much worse it is for others, how grateful I should be, how things are ‘not all bad’.
I’m am tired of listening to these things, when I am not being truly heard.
I am tired.
And yes, my downfall is then my smile; because it is genuine and given free of charge, with love.
“You don’t look depressed,” you say.
No. No I don’t.
Because my smile is not just my downfall, it is my protection.