The unreasonable thirst we hold inside
- Melissa Herrera: Not Waiting for Friday
- August 11, 2024
- 414
I don’t feel forgotten.
But I do want joy.
Here, living amongst a plethora of different families in my Westbrook neighborhood, I have neighbors who walk out their doors and do what they must each day. I want them to walk past my house and feel joy in the plants I’ve planted, the riotous color a pleasure to their eyes.
Every Sunday I see people walking down the street to attend St. Joseph’s Catholic Church at the end of my block, the beautiful church bells gathering them in. The streets are lined with cars full of regular people going to mass.
We’re people walking through the minutes of each day. We want food security, enough money to pay our bills, and a minute to sit and dream the dreams we’ve always had.
We want to be happy.
I want happiness like the first bite of a triple-layered chocolate dessert, the dissolving of it on your tongue, the way a cold glass of water with ice cubes hits the back of your throat and quenches an unreasonable thirst.
I want someone to tell me what I’ve offered is enough, not that I have to do more to be productive, that sitting on my porch in the evening and raising a hand in greeting to the sidewalk walkers is enough, that voting in important elections after careful consideration is important to the lining of my life here.
I think the unreasonable thirst we hold in our bellies is a yearning for joy, a steadfast knowing that despite the horrors that exist in the world, we can have a bit of happiness if we grasp it hard enough. A constant gruel of fear sits hard in our bodies.
I once wrote, “Fear is a business strategy for those in power. The farther down the hole we go, the harder it is to remember.”
It’s time to climb out of the hole.
I follow an IG account of a man that makes food for the children living amongst the rubble of Palestine. He stirs up vats of spaghetti, soup and more — all while staring intently into the camera. Then he wheels out his cart to serve the kids who, despite their surroundings, eat and laugh and play. He has brought them beauty for ashes, a sliver of kindness meant to bring hope from darkness.
I need an injection of that straight into my veins. I want to be told all will be well. I’m smart enough to know, though, that I have to make some of that happiness myself. There must be time carved out to read a good book and sit still by a stream and listen to the birds tweet, point my car to an unknown destination and throw on a podcast I like or silently haunt thrift store aisles finding knickknacks that bring me joy.
People always say that “things” shouldn’t make me happy, but that’s a lie. Every day I look at the single bookend of “The Thinker” I thrifted and how he sits against the deep-green wall of my living room simply thinking or the stack of vintage floral stoneware I eat my scrambled eggs and zucchini off of. When I look at the ‘60s buffet I bought off FB Marketplace that now houses my collection of tablecloths, it makes me smile.
The people I love sit amongst these items that make me happy. We love inside a space created to capture that joy. May we make the whole of this country a place that brings joy, not despair. May we turn on the news for a fragment of what’s going on around us and not be sucked down a hole that invites hate or rancor.
Let’s do good things for ourselves and each other. That’s all that matters.
Melissa Herrera is a published author and opinion columnist. She is a curator of vintage mugs and all things spooky, and her book, “TOÑO LIVES,” can be found at www.tinyurl.com/Tonolives. For inquiries, to purchase her book or anything else on your mind, email her at junkbabe68@gmail.com or find her in the thrift aisles.