Learning to Love Mittens

"Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. 

You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. 

You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. 

And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it; you must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it."

- Elizabeth Gilbert -

I've never liked mittens. Although I'm confident I wore them during my preschool days - and I certainly adore fuzzy articles of clothing - I can't actually relish the inconvenience that comes along with donning mittens. But, alas, this isn't meant to be a stroll down Erin's memory lane (though I'd like to think it's a riveting journey). And the title isn't referring to a form of winter apparel, but rather a certain region nestled between five rather large lakes.

Ahh... Michigan. Lovely, flat land that's home to prevalent obesity, mediocre professional sports teams, wavering car industries, and relentless cloud coverage. Did I mention the April blizzards? In Michigan, April showers don't always bring May flowers, because our showers are in the form of snow.

Okay, so we're all guilty of the occasional Michigan rant and familiar with the jokes often rooted in fact. But as we humans are prone to do, we wind up completely overlooking the good and zooming right in on the bad and the ugly. Seen anyone stop to smell the roses lately? Me, neither. Perhaps we're embarrassed to do so on a literal level, but metaphorically, it's because we've lost interest. 

You don't have to have read or enjoyed Eat, Pray, Love to appreciate Gilbert's words above. We receive blessings, and then what do we do? We sit and stare, totally dumbfounded as to what to make of them. Or maybe, just maybe, we don't even recognize them as blessings. Too often, we peer over the fence into our neighbor's yard without appreciating the green hue of our own grass.  

My grass isn't even green in the first place, you might say.

Well, have you tended to your yard lately? Happiness requires personal strength; it demands endurance. You need to take full advantage of what God grants you.

Michigan, like any other place, has its flaws. But what about the positive aspects of our mitten? About a month ago, I considered all the regions across the United States and tried to pinpoint my perfect destination. But what I discovered is that every location has a downside. The moderate temperatures along the coastlines are tempting, but I couldn't imagine the absence of seasonal changes. New England might be nice, but there's certainly no relief in the winter. Some U.S. states offer a milder winter, but the humidity skyrockets during the summer months. After careful thought, I concluded that my idealistic world featuring "mild winters, non-humid summers, and beautiful fall color" couldn't possibly exist.

But what does exist is Michigan's scenic (if short) autumn. The cool, crisp feeling in the air... the tastes and scents of local cider mills... the vivid, picturesque backdrop of golden and crimson trees. I can say, with conviction, that I adore our fall.

[This photograph was taken at school, fall 2009 :)]

It's time that we recognize the beauty and goodness surrounding us - even if we only witness it in seemingly trivial things or moments. I'm convinced that authentic "meaninglessness" doesn't exist. Each and every thing has the potential to be meaningful because we give it meaning. We "must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it;" and even the most minuscule trace of meaning serves as our lifesaver as we make our way to the surface. We struggle again and again, but we count our blessings and strive for contentment.

If only we could remember how many people lack a place to call home - lack the warmth and comfort we know and often ignore - we just might find that mittens (of any form) aren't so bad after all.

Embrace.