|Fireworks #1 (Photo credit: Camera Slayer)|
I need more excuses to celebrate.
It's a fine line, of course. Any luxury done too often becomes a habit, not a treat. And for some reason, toasting every time there's a drink in front of you, especially if you insist on clinking with everyone in a quarter-mile radius, is the kind of thing that makes me think you're not taking this seriously.
I don't know, it just is.
But from a pumped fist after a particularly good round of Balderdash, to a fancy cocktail on a birthday, to an exhausted brunch after a race well-run, to a weekend getaway for an anniversary, a celebration is a moment to say, "This matters, and I'm happy about it."
I won. You're important to me. This matters. We matter.
Celebrations are about significance and joy. Something matters, and we're happy about it.
Really, what are these weekly reflections on happiness, if not small celebrations of tea or rainstorms or books or whatever?
I need to do that more.
And, truth be told, being celebrated would not adversely affect my happiness, either. So long as it's for a real reason. Please don't congratulate me for BS or say you appreciate me because you think I'm fishing. Just... who doesn't like to be told they're doing something right?
Who doesn't like to celebrate?