an interesting tale about happiness

I wish I had a better excuse for the recent blog hiatus. Unfortunately, nothing plausible comes to mind. Mostly it's been due to the trepidation of writing the promised report of our road trip, for the exact reason that Alain de Botton recently noted: "It takes genius to make an account of one's last holiday interesting. It is impossible not to be gripping when admitting inadequacies." Perhaps this is why most of my posts are about my personal foibles and things that I can easily find fault with. Am I simply a mediocre writer, with no imagination beyond identifying areas for (mostly others') improvement? I certainly hope that's not the case. 

But what can I say about a week of near bliss, with no obligations, spent with someone who I adore, that won't make you ill from the saccharine sweetness of it all? My first instinct is to point out the less-than-perfect moments, like when I came upon a nest of baby lizards, immediately thought Snakes!, and bolted past M so fast he probably thought I'd been suddenly possessed. Or when we got a tiny bit lost and I kept pointing in the direction we should go, rather than using words, which are ever more effective in navigational co-piloting. Or, on our last night, when we indulged in unnecessarily decadent fare and ended up moaning in bed for hours about our upset stomachs. That's all I've got. Truly. 

During a full week, much of it spent in the car, there were many more laughs and poorly executed raps along with artists like Fannypack (download their song Cameltoe, you're welcome), than there were annoyances or fervid wishes to be anywhere else but here. Literally, it was seven days of sunshine, beaches and birds singing. (sickening, isn't it?) There was a night out in LA with friends, one who is incidentally named Sunshine, that concluded with whiskey-fueled interpretative dances and the unveiling of a pretty impressive sea shell collection. Minus the whiskey, you couldn't get any closer to the idealized joyfulness of Disney lore. And yet, I feel more exposed admitting that than if I'd had to divulge that this trip was our undoing.

Maybe I err on the side of negativity because it's less threatening. Humor has often been labeled a defense mechanism. And let's be honest, angst is inherently more amusing. I mean, what's funny about everything going right? So, maybe De Botton hit the nail on the head. Perhaps only genius can find humor in contentment or weave an interesting tale out of happiness. I'm still working on it.