My Happy Place
Sometimes our expectations do not match our reality, and that can cause quite a bit of internal conflict.
I expect my home to be my happy place. Where I relax, unwind, meditate, and rejuvenate. I expect to be in my room in silence. To watch television, read a book, or write without interruptions. I expect for things to be where I left them, and to have my privacy respected. Unfortunately, I live with 4 other people who have differing opinions on what privacy and personal space mean. I'm asked a series of questions the moment I step into the house. I am the family psychologist, pharmacist, scapegoat, and emotional interpreter, among other things.
Yet, I still come home every day under the delusion that I will have quiet/peaceful time. When that doesn't happen I become upset, tense, and because it's too late to begin a discussion on why I don't want to hear a laundry list of problems as I eat my dinner, I hold it all in and push through.
We can't change anyone but ourselves. Sometimes we can't explain our needs with any more clarity or patience. The only solution is to manage your own expectations, emotions, and reactions.
I have learned that my home is not my happy place, despite being grateful to have it, and usually being eager to return to it. No, my happy place is walking aimlessly on my lunch break. It's window shopping in Soho and 34th street. It's walking through the aisles of Barnes and Noble, reading back covers, and feeling the texture of brand new journals. Home is where ever I am alone with my thoughts.
When we can't change our reality, we must adapt to it. It's time to find and create our happiness elsewhere.