As someone with high functioning anxiety, I know how bad these past couple of months might have gotten with everything going on worldwide. Not that it stops there, but our own thoughts are enough for everything in our mind to get so jumbled and muddled up, it eventually turns into a persistent cacophony.
One thing I’ve realized, trying to get through these days, is the importance of finding joy in the small things.
Don’t stop reading, this might sound cliche, but hear me out.
By small things, I’m not referring to the smattering of activities that every possible person and internet search has suggested to us: cooking, exercising, and talking to friends. That’s important too, don’t get me wrong, but what about finding joy in those tiny things we never even give a thought.
For me, that is a balloon. (Yes, you read that right)
For a lot of you, this will conjure up images of helium-filled orbs floating in the sky or extending from the sticky, candy-covered hands of a child. But balloons have come to hold a different essence for me altogether. They remind me of open starry skies spent soaking in the wonder of the world around us, where at that moment the sheer beauty of nature is enough to awe us into silence. They remind me of fairs I spent my childhood in, surrounded by a myriad of colors, and spending every last cent on the same ride. Most importantly, balloons remind me that I will experience all of this again, because these bad times shall pass too, sooner than we think.
Balloons signify what sometimes words cannot - carefree conversations, nonchalant hugs and whispered secrets. As I’m writing this, I see a blue balloon with polka dots on my table, and all it does is make me grateful. The reason? In spite of all the bad days, they remind me of these perplexing yet absolutely stunning set of memories which brought happiness to my life, and this gives me hope. Hope, that says everything will be alright.
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