I Happy Am

What shall I call thee?

I happy am.

My name is joy.

- Jamel Brinkley

I talk about my problems so often on this blog that it seems fair to admit when things are going well, even if it comes off a little as bragging. At the conference track meet last week I got a personal record and scored points for the team in both the ten-kilometer and five-kilometer races (a real feat, since I spend most days after a 10k immobilized from soreness). And, at the ceremony afterwards, I won the award for highest GPA in the men’s midwest division-three track conference, which I’d always assumed was out of my reach since my GPA was .03 points away from perfect. I told myself not to rest on my laurels, that I still had a tough finals week ahead of me. But just a couple hours ago I turned the last of my papers in and feel reasonably confident that I did well on all of them. There’s nothing really to complain about in the rest of my life: I’m in a wonderful relationship, have a lot of close friends, finally found a clear path towards employment, and have most of my anxieties under control. 

I have companionship, validation, health, hope in the future. In short, I’m happy. And you have no idea how much that’s stressing me out.

I’m not sure where that stress comes from, but I can feel it all the same. Maybe it’s fear that all of this is fleeting. Even though I don’t identify as a Minnesotan, Garrison Keeler summed me up pretty well when he observed that Minnesotans prefer bad luck to good luck, because bad luck promises that times will get better, while good luck only warns that you’ve reached your peak. And I know in no uncertain terms that things won’t stay this good forever. I’ll go home tomorrow, and as much as I’ll love seeing my family, it’ll mean leaving my girlfriend and all my friends at Grinnell for three months. No matter how well I did at conference this year, I’ll be just as nervous next year. No matter how hard I worked or what grades I got this year, there’s always more to do when the year starts again. 

I also miss the feeling of anticipation that pervades the build-up to conference and finals week. No matter how stressful or painful each moment is, you always have something better to hold out for. Sometimes over the summer I’d intentionally dehydrate myself, going on long runs when I knew I hadn’t had enough to drink, because chugging that first glass of water after twelve miles in ninety degree heat was worth all the pain. Maybe I’m like that now, finally rehydrated and starting to feel a little bit sick as I look for something else to look forward to.

In my dream last night I was threatened by some kind of shotgun-wielding anarcho-communist (which is an odd thing for my subconscious to think of, because, if anarcho-communists were prone to violence, then Grinnell would have a much higher murder rate). I tried to run away, which was somehow heroic in my warped dream-logic, and got a back full of shrapnel. There was an odd sort of thrill to it, even though the pain was more than I’ve ever endured in my waking life. And in the hospital, when everyone came up to me and congratulated me for so bravely running away, I was already anxious for the time when the wound would heal and I’d be just another guy.

Maybe that’s how I am right now: I want to be sore from my race and braindead from my finals. I want to be worn out, because if I’m normal and healthy and successful, then there’s no where to go from there. But, hopefully, this is all just me acclimating to a less-stressful part of life. Maybe a lack of pain will be good for me for a while. And, if things get worse, at least I’ll know where I stand.