I didn’t know what it was called, this feeling that come right after I realize that I feel really happy…
That sense that any second now, the rug is about to be jerked out from under me.
It’s an addiction, I think, to that feeling, that just when everything is so right, it’s about to go so wrong. But you get used to feeling that way. Things are going so well… then BAM.
Surprise! But not a good surprise…
I mean, it’s happened before, so you come to expect it, and deep down inside you’re always preparing for the worst.
Maybe right after you get married, you learn that your new man has $60,000 in debt he didn’t tell you about.
Or that he had affairs with multiple women, some of them married, the whole year you dated.
Or maybe he’s been sexting with prostitutes he found on Craigslist.
Or that maybe he’s a sleazy con artist sociopath who can’t utter one single complete sentence that doesn’t have some sort of lie in it…
…Hypothetically, of course.
You just thought you were going to get to be happy.
Then several years later when you catch yourself in a stage when your job is amazing, you’re surrounded by the best people, and everything you’ve ever wanted, you kind of have that right now, and you feel … happy? Is that what this is? And how did I get so lucky?!
I dunno, it’s tempting to start rehearsing the tragedy that’s surely just around the corner.
I’ve been slowly reading through Daring Greatly by Brené Brown, who gave this feeling a name – foreboding joy – and describes it as a “coming out of your skin” feeling… desperate for more joy, but can’t tolerate the vulnerability.
I guess it’s pretty common to feel that way after a series of excruciatingly painful circumstances brought on by your own poor choices.
I don’t know the cure for that.
I’m only on page 123 of the book.
But I’m working on it.