Tag: happiness

No Thank You, but Thank You

Posted on by [email protected]

Are flags red, or are they just reddish?

For my first relationship, I feel like, looking back, I wore rose-tinted glasses to hide all the red flags I didn’t want to see. 

I’m sure I’m not the only one who did the same thing when experiencing love for the first time. I was infatuated with the idea that somebody liked me, so I tried hard to make it work, no matter how terrible I felt throughout the latter half of the relationship.

It lasted nearly three and a half years, far longer than it should have, but I don’t regret it, as I learned many lessons. Like what I should expect from my partner, what makes me happy, and most importantly, how to love myself in the ways I needed rather than what I was told.

Initially it felt like I was reaching while he was settling. Along the way, however, I found myself settling, disregarding the beliefs I thought were important to me. Does he respect my feelings? Did my happiness matter? How were his relationships with his family? Did he take accountability for his finances and career? Does our future line up? Did he care about where our relationship was going? Were there more happy tears than sad? Does he smoke too much, drink too much? Why does his room always feel like a game of “The Floor is Lava”?

It didn’t occur to me that my disappointment stemmed from my moral weakness. I thought that since he had more experience, he knew more.

Until he said he wanted me to experience the “broken heart of life, now you should explore what else can hurt you.”

My first heartbreak

I was naive, young, a hopeless romantic, inexperienced. I was many things. But deep down, I knew better. All along, I should’ve known we just weren’t compatible, that I shouldn’t’ve tried to hold on because I didn’t want to start over. I shouldn’t have to put up with somebody who wanted me to “learn what love was” just so he could let me go.

Screw that.

But at the same time, and I truly hate to admit it, he was right.

My first big step

I did need to know what heartbreak felt like, to know that what we had was not ideal. I was tiptoeing around a field akin to a Minesweeper grid toward the end of the round.

The timing of our relationship ending was fortuitous. I ended up moving to a new city, and it felt like a clean start to truly find myself. The old adages of starting over! and rebranding yourself! became a sort of lifestyle for me for the following three years. I learned to love myself.

I threw myself into a new life of meeting new people, trying new things, exploring new places, and taking new risks. It was a truly magical three years of my life. I met so many amazing people and traveled to exciting places with them and on my own. Everywhere I went and everything I did added to me as a single, whole person. I was on my own, and I truly was content and peaceful.

Man and woman holding hands walking down the street, viewed from the back
(Image courtesy of Luwadlin Bosman via Unsplash)

It’s a full-circle moment

Eventually, I found myself ready to start a new relationship, so I began holding myself to higher standards and qualifications — which ultimately led me back to my first relationship.

It’s challenging to find better standards without considering your experiences. So, I thought about him a lot. I thought about how he hurt me, how it felt like my feelings weren’t validated, how it didn’t seem like he was emotionally available, and how I couldn’t picture a lifelong future with him. How much I cried out of sadness alone.

Yes, I still think about him a lot, but it’s because I’m always comparing my current relationship to my past one. I’m happier overall as my feelings, thoughts, emotions, wants, and needs are valued. I get to enjoy activities together with my partner rather than resign myself to doing what my ex had always wanted to do. We have a lot more common interests and travel goals. I’ve definitely cried more happy tears than sad. I’ve found my life partner. Ironically, it was because my ex-boyfriend helped reunite me with an old high school friend I originally had feelings for.

Now, I truly feel happy and blessed. I’ve learned to love myself, and I’ve found somebody who can add to my happiness — not take away from it. We’ve both continued to redefine what we needed in our relationship, what we should look for, and how we can work on our disagreements. 

I’d be lying if I said everything was 100% peaches and cream. But it’s a damn solid 92% in my opinion.

So, thank you for hurting me. It was because of you that I truly became happy.

HelloGoodbye

Posted on by Jonathan

I’m all too familiar with that clench in my stomach when I first enter a room, knowing it’s full of strangers and not a familiar face in sight. From childhood and well into adulthood, most of us worry about relationships or connections to alleviate loneliness, myself included. Making friends is part of our nature, forming packs or groups to make it easier to survive.

There are a myriad of reasons for me to make friends. Sometimes, though, there’s even more to let them go.

Can I? Should I?

Relationships serve a purpose, whether they are short-lived or long-term. Many times, though, the acquaintances I’ve made are just that: acquaintances. Often, I think to myself, “I really should reach out to that person and see how they’re doing. I should get around to seeing if they want to hang out with me.”

But do they even like me? Am I coming across as annoying?

I would send a text or message to ask how their life is, and I would get either one or two responses back — sometimes no responses at all, and that’s where it hurts. Our half-hearted exchanges show that we’re not in each other’s lives anymore, despite our once-lengthy conversations into the night. I sometimes feel like I’m the only one carrying the discussion. The group chat where memes and jokes were constantly thrown around has been quiet for years now. The childhood friend I’ve known literally my entire school life from kindergarten through all of college is no longer there. We’ve all moved on to pursue different careers or relationships, and we can’t go back. Our roads have diverged. 

But that’s okay. 

It has to be. And it will be — eventually.

Distance is hard, but also helpful

I’ve gone through my fair share of relationships. We swear to keep in touch, to not be a stranger, to reach out and keep each other in our thoughts. But it’s hard. Proximity keeps them in sight, making it easier to engage, to laugh, to share memories. To overlook irks, red flags, or disappointments. When they’re not right in front of me, how do I maintain that level of closeness? Is it yet possible for us to maintain the connection?

Or is it time to move on?

In other situations, our personalities just didn’t jive, or they felt like a negative influence in my life. I shouldn’t have to validate their happiness with my unhappiness, should I? It hurts when others think I’m being childish or insensitive, but I don’t want to have to justify their negative behavior to make them feel good about their life choices. Toxic relationships can be detrimental to our happiness, whether it’s family or friends — and it hurts more the closer we are to them. I want to stay by their side because they’ve known me the longest, so how can I accept that they don’t need to be in my life anymore?

I’ve found myself at the teetering point of a few relationships recently. They were great work friends, and we’ve spent a lot of time together laughing, eating, and enjoying life. So when it came time to quietly let them go, it was neither easy nor sudden. I had to come to terms that I couldn’t reach out to them quite as easily or look forward to seeing them in person again. We weren’t working together anymore by that point, and we lived in different parts of the area. We didn’t particularly share any recreational activities or hobbies, and our tastes in music and movies were vastly different. It was one of those situational relationships where it worked until the situation changed.

A group of friends, arms linked, looking over a body of water with a buoy bobbing in the distance.
(Image courtesy of Duy Pham via Unsplash)

Relationships serve a purpose

Biologically, we look for others to be with because there’s safety in numbers. It helps alleviate the burden and stress, both physically and mentally. It makes it easier to tolerate loneliness because we have precious memories to think of fondly.

I have many lifelong relationships that I’m thankful for. Some I’ve found late in life, and some after much heartache — some even after we’ve diverged and forced our way back into each other’s way. I’m grateful for the friends I have now, and also to the ones I’ve had to let go. For the sake of my happiness and well-being, it’s healthy to reevaluate relationships once in a while to gauge just how much better my life is with them. But I also know I need to focus on learning to love myself; only then can healthy friendships grow because I know exactly what I should be looking for, what I need in a friend.

I like to believe my past relationships were mutual understandings. We needed each other at that moment, and we’ve served our purposes. Could I have put in more effort? Yes. Could they have as well? Also yes. Finger pointing and victim blaming is impractical because there’s always going to be another chance to be better, and I’m grateful for that opportunity — to be an even better friend to those I’ll meet in the future. As a millennial, I’ve often lamented that it’s hard making friends my age, but it’s not impossible. I know that now.

“Every end is a new beginning,” goes the phrase.

And it starts with, “Hello.”

Quit This Job to Keep That Dream

Posted on by Jonathan

I am staring at a beautiful sunset over the Puglian shoreline, with a singer passionately belting out his heart. His voice echoes throughout the resort where I am staying. Sono contento.

This moment feels perfect, filled with a profound sense of oneness. It’s one of those full-circle moments where you understand why you made the choices you did.

Standing on the roof of this Adriatic resort, I have just finished my last day of teaching English to 18 students from across Italy for over 14 days. This unforgettable experience was the culmination of decisions for a trajectory I set myself on over six years ago. At the end of 2017, I decided to leave teaching, feeling I had reached my limit and believing it was better to end on a high note. 

Teaching had been good to me, with wonderful co-workers who changed my life and, of course, the students, who were always great, even when they were difficult. Teaching was my world, and I was good at it. It was a calling, like being a nun, monk, or firefighter. You do it not for praise or money, but because you believe you can positively influence the next generation, helping them find their dreams and true happiness so they can serve society beneficially. Grazie.

Reading and writing and filming

Around this time, I rediscovered my passion for screenwriting and filmmaking. I began writing scripts and TV pilots for fun. Friends insisted my writing was funny and enjoyable, which made me think I could pursue this career. I had tried before but was always scared of continuing, opting instead for a steady route that could secure a safe and stable life. However, the dream of becoming a screenwriter had been with me since I was eight years old. I loved movies more than anyone else I knew.

As I got older, I would go to the library and rent 15 to 20 films a week in the summer. I read every film book available, from André Bazin and Jean-Luc Godard, to Federico Fellini, Yasujiro Ozu, and Akira Kurosawa. I paid special attention to books on editing by Walter Murch and screenplays by Woody Allen. This was my world, and anyone who knew me knew this.

When I was 13, instead of having posters of athletes, girls, or bands on the wall (though there were some), I had big, beautiful film posters. Every night as I lay in bed, I would look at these posters, dreaming of the day my own film’s poster would be on the wall. A huge wooden poster of Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis” stood across from “L.A. Confidential,” and over my bed was Atom Egoyan’s “The Sweet Hereafter,” a film that changed me as a young writer. Over the years, I collected posters, from the original print of “Return of the Jedi” to Fellini’s “Otto e mezzo” and many Sergio Leone films. 

(Image courtesy of Chris Murray via Unsplash)

As I grew older, my love for film became just that — a love. No matter what, film will remain with me forever. During this phase, I was fortunate to work as a crew member on several big movies, learning from wonderful filmmakers who became great teachers. One of my fondest memories was working on a Spike Lee film, an experience that taught me so much. However, unlike many, I was not interested in working in Hollywood; I wanted to work in Europe and make films like my heroes. Soon enough, I finished my master’s degree in cinema and directed music videos in Europe. 

Success came early, and I felt I was too young to understand what was happening. I changed my career path and took courses to become an English teacher. Throughout this career change, I managed to integrate my love of cinema, making English films in class and writing screenplays or plays on particular English topics. In the background, I kept writing screenplays for an audience of no one, believing my time in cinema was over.

By 2017, I hit a wall in my life. I was engaged and had a great job, but I wanted more money for a secure future. Stupid worries raced through my mind like; “How was I going to afford that Maserati with the V8 Ferrari engine that I had on my vision board?” 

Making money

I looked at the job market and saw where I could make more money. I started postgraduate courses in digital marketing, digital product management, platform design, and data analytics. I studied hard and got good grades. Slowly, clients started to come in, and soon I was building my first websites with consulting flowing in. What happened next changed me forever. I took on the role of director of marketing and communications in a startup in Italy. I was successful, and the bosses promised more money, often dangling small rewards in front of me to lure me into working harder to drive their bottom line. 

(Image courtesy of Duren Williams via Pexels)

It started with fancy trips to Vienna, then expensive clothes, lavish yacht cruises, and expensive dinners with famous people. I believed I was getting everything I wanted. Every day I came home exhausted, used, and spent. I had no time for my wife, family, or my hobby, screenwriting. I started to get worse, angry, and hungry to prove myself in front of the rich bosses and investors. 

Just when I was about to give it up, they bought a Maserati, to which I was one of the few to have access. The first day I drove it, the V8 Ferrari engine roared, reminding me of the picture of the Maserati I had always wanted on my vision board. Now it was here. But after an hour of driving with all eyes on me on the highway, I felt empty. How could this not give me the joy I expected? 

I was confused and lost

Then COVID happened, slowing down business and forcing us all to retreat home. With so much time on my hands, I decided to write again. It started with finishing one screenplay, then another and another, and then a book. My wife pushed me to send my work to screenwriting festivals. What happened next was shocking: I started to win, and win a lot, at festivals all over the world. I didn’t need the recognition; I was just having fun writing. 

After COVID and a return to some normalcy, I began to reevaluate everything in my life. This job did not fill me with joy, and the bosses never cared about my well-being or even my relationship with my family. I missed the time I had writing; it made me happier and gave my life purpose.

I started to prioritize my family, my writing, my health, and my mental well-being. The company was shocked because I started to care less about the job. 

(Image courtesy of Duren Williams via Pexels)

It wasn’t really that I cared less; I was simply doing the work I was hired to do. I still met all deadlines and achieved results. But after 5:00 PM, I left the office and shut my phone off. No late nights answering emails. I started to take holidays and my legal two days off. Of course, they tried to guilt-trip me about my priorities. It was at a yoga retreat in the mountains that I made an ultimatum: I would stay one more year, then quit and focus on writing again.

Aiming higher

It’s been over three months since I quit the job that did not serve my higher purpose. I have had more fulfilling, life-affirming experiences than in six years in a job where I did not matter. During this time, I have sold two screenplays, one of which will be in production in February 2025. I have been to amazing concerts, reconnected with my brother in Barcelona, hiked mountains, surfed, ziplined, gone to waterparks, reconnected with God on a deeper level, joined an American football team, and had the best work experience of my life in Puglia, teaching English to 18 amazing students across Italy who have changed my life. 

There are lessons to be learned from chasing money, wealth, and prestige. I learned a lot from all that. For six years, I was on a mission to prove people wrong, to show them how many things I could acquire. This material solace instead created a life devoid of anything meaningful. I failed to see that truly rich people live their purpose. 

Purpose, I came to understand, is doing what you love, which serves your higher self and improves the world around you. The joy I now have for life is incomparable to the six years of boredom I experienced while waiting for my profit share. Or the sailboat I was promised. In the end, none of those things materialized, as they were used as false idols to take me away from myself. I realized I always had the most valuable thing in the world within me: my happiness and my freedom. 

And so do you. Prego. 

(Image courtesy of Massimo Virgilio via Unsplash)