Sasee Magazine

“She won’t stop singing.”

This wasn’t the news my mother was anticipating when she was called in for an impromptu conference with her youngest daughter’s kindergarten teacher.

Relieved, my mother shrugged and replied, “She’s a happy child.”

What my bemused mother couldn’t have foreseen that day was how routine this experience would become as Margaret progressed through school. Year after year, as if previously scripted, each teacher would sit down to discuss my sister and present her numerous strengths as a bright, intelligent student who was a delight to have in the classroom except for her one unusual distracting habit: “She won’t stop singing.”

And, just as predictably, my mother would shrug and proudly reply, “She’s a happy child.”

Now in her early-twenties, Margaret is a Music major at Emory University where she studies bassoon, sings with the school’s a cappella, symphonic and gospel choirs and continues to be filled with an intriguing infectious joy.

In a society where we are constantly bombarded with skepticism and fear, Margaret’s palpable happiness is both refreshing and perplexing. As if completely unaware of the self-deprecating nature of those around her, Margaret refuses to waste time with worry or doubt, instead opting to plunge headfirst into life’s rich opportunities. She has never dieted or obsessed about her weight and openly embraces her curvy, athletic build with a confidence that easily makes her the most radiant woman in any room. Margaret is friendly without being intrusive, confident without being egotistical, assertive without being insulting and somehow cheerful without being obnoxious. Simply put, my sister is a blissfully passionate force of nature.

Naturally, her optimism is often confused with naïveté, and she has been met with plenty of cynicism in response to her unwavering self-confidence. Throughout her lifetime, she’s received discouragement from various mentors who believed they were being “realistic” to spare her feelings in the long run, yet Margaret continues to succeed at her countless endeavors. Most remarkably, Margaret has never made decisions out of spite for the naysayers in her path and is motivated purely by her own enthusiasm.

Despite our immediate relation, I somehow managed to resist Margaret’s humble excitement about life. Since I was a child, I’ve been insatiable in my search for contentment. I’d constantly beg my parents to let me change schools every couple years out of boredom or general dissatisfaction, and I was never without complaint for my peers, my wardrobe, my living situation, or anything else that I perceived to be preventing my happiness. In my adolescence I started rating my value based on how much I weighed, often loathing myself more with every pound I gained and holding myself back from healthy relationships because of my lack of self-worth. Then, when I was finally diagnosed with severe depression in my early-twenties I couldn’t shake the guilt I felt for subjecting my family and friends to my ever-present misery. From where I stood, happiness always seemed like a popular myth, based in delusion and immaturity.

The summer of my twenty-third year found me frustrated and exhausted with my own self-inflicted misery. Although I was genuinely showered with blessings, I was still only able to focus on the parts of my life that I felt defined me as a “failure,” and I was weary from chronic dissatisfaction. Needless to say, Margaret’s breezy return from college had me less than enthusiastic.

At first, I watched Margaret with cynicism, waiting for life’s inevitable speed bumps to thwart her relentless excitement. However, I quickly realized that her enthusiasm persisted through any of her daily hardships and simply refused to be squashed. If it was raining outside, Margaret was excited to wear her new galoshes. If she got a flat tire, she had a jovial, enriching conversation with a stranger who stopped to help her change it. If someone died, she giddily went shopping for a new black dress. (Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration.) With each passing day my amazement in Margaret’s undeterred quest for happiness grew exponentially, and I found myself aching to know her secret. How could she avoid the same daily negativity that seemed so prevalent to me? How was she able to be so carefree about the world and still able to function as a productive member of society? Was it really possible to plunge into life without putting up any sort of preemptive defense mechanism? Unable to quell my curiosity I finally broke down and begged Margaret to tell me her secret.

Shrugging, she replied, “I have joy.”

Flustered at her dismissive simplicity, I pressed on, “Yes, but why?”

She paused for a moment before smiling, clearly amused at my habitual need for over complication. However, what she asked me next changed the way I thought about everything: “Well, why not?”

Years later I still don’t have an answer to her question. To be honest, I haven’t spent any time looking for one; I’m too busy singing.