For nearly thirteen thousand seven hundred forty-nine days, one hour, and forty-two minutes, my life unfolded without incurring any major losses. Let me be clear: I did lose things—friends faded, opportunities slipped by, sleep vanished, money was spent. But in all those years, I never lost anything so vital that God had to intervene and carry me through the darkness.
In my twenties, I dated someone who poked fun at my persistent optimism. My joy was infectious—steps light, laughter easy, smiles gifted to strangers for no reason at all. He teased, “You are so damn happy all of the time because you ain’t been through nothing. Just wait. You will see.” I rolled my eyes, unconvinced, chalking his cynicism up to age—older, I always sought older for a sense of stability.
I tucked that exchange into my mind’s file cabinet, retrieving it every so often whenever I needed a barometer for happiness. Are my steps still light? Do I still smile at strangers? Is my outlook unwavering and bright? Yes—it was just his own grumpiness casting shadows.
Then, the forty-third minute arrived, ushering in a new era—Great Calamity. Suddenly, my life pivoted from minor losses to a relentless tide of unimaginable grief that lasted eighteen months. My father passed away suddenly, mid-sentence; both of my businesses stalled overnight, swept under by the pandemic’s tide. Virtual meetings left me floundering; nothing in my experience prepared me for the world’s new contours. Covid-19 was a reality I never imagined living through. I lost two brothers—one abruptly in a hospital breezeway, the other drifting away from the family altogether. My daughter’s childhood, which I treasured as my ultimate achievement, was revealed to be different than I believed. The version of my husband I loved most dissolved; a close friend, paralyzed by a stray bullet, was taken from the world a few months later.
Loss came in waves—often just far enough apart to keep my heart in a suspended state of sadness. It was a numbness, like existing under gentle sedation. I moved through life’s motions: eating, drinking, traveling, dancing, working, praying, walking, running, building, creating—each effort drizzled in grief, like syrup pooling over a sundae. With every sorrow, I lost pieces of myself. The weight I’d worked to shed over ten years crept back on; my reflection became strange, a face rounder and eyes dimmer than I recognized.
Responsibilities didn’t pause. Adult children needed guidance, dogs needed walking, businesses needed rebuilding, a widowed mother sought comfort, a home awaited tending, a marriage asked for renewal. I dusted off my “happy” measuring stick once again: Are my steps still light? Do I smile at strangers? Am I still an optimist? Yes—because it remains the only way I know how to live.
In this dual reality, I have found two truths: I am, at my core, relentlessly happy. And my ex was right—I hadn’t endured true hardship before. If you’re still reading, thank you for bearing witness.
Let me leave you with these reminders:
- God holds us close, even when we are unaware. Though I was emotionally absent for several years, not one necessary thing was stripped away; God preserved all I truly needed.
- When your heart aches and sadness settles in, consider the comfort of scripture—Philippians 4:5-11:
“5 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.
6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 8 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 9 Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.
10 I rejoiced greatly in the Lord that at last you renewed your concern for me. Indeed, you were concerned, but you had no opportunity to show it.
11 I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances.”
Kesha