The Keys To Happiness


Photo: Alfred Schrock on Unsplash


Two years, and he could hardly remember how he’d managed to survive before.

The rush. The never ending tasks. The constant worry. The being pulled a million ways by demands and the dreams of others.

He’d run on fumes for months on end, then crash and burn in ways that hurt not only himself but also the ones whose lives were closest. All those bridges he’d burnt.

It was the last burnt bridge that had paradoxically saved him. It became a light from burning embers. He’d flown out to care for an ailing uncle, but in truth just to escape the consequences of another interpersonal disaster. He expected to discover his uncle, who’d been the family’s previous pariah, on death’s door. What he did not expect was to find him so content.

“Live here,” were his uncle’s last words. “Need little. Use less. The Keys saved me. Claim your turn.”



For What Pegman Saw: Florida Keys


41 thoughts on “The Keys To Happiness

  1. !ื—ื–ืง
    ื”ืจืก ืขืฆืžื™ ื–ื” ืจืข…
    …ืืš ืžืกืชื‘ืจ ืฉืœื”ื’ื ื” ื™ืฉ ื‘ื›ืœ ืื•ืคืŸ ืชืคืงื™ื“…ื•ื”ื™ื ืžืžืœืื” ืื•ืชื• ื›ืจืื•ื™

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    • ืœืคืขืžื™ื ื”ืฉืจื“ื•ืช ื•ื”ื›ื—ืฉื” ื•ื—ื•ืกืจ ืชื•ื‘ื ื” ืขืฆืžื™ืช ื™ื›ื•ืœื•ืช ืœื”ื‘ื™ื ืœืžืงื•ื ืœื ื˜ื•ื‘, ื•ืœืคืขืžื™ื ื™ืฉื ืŸ ืขื“ื™ื™ืŸ ื”ื–ื“ืžื ื•ื™ื•ืช ืœืฉื ื•ืช ื›ื™ื•ื•ืŸ ื‘ืฆื•ืจื” ืฉืžืืคืฉืจืช ืฉื™ืงื•ื ื•ื”ื—ืœืžื” ื•ืžืฆื™ืืช ืžืงื•ื ืœืขืฆืžื™ื•ืช ืฉืœื ืžืขืจื‘ืช ืคื’ื™ืขื” ืขืฆืžื™ืช ื•/ืื• ื‘ืื—ืจื™ื …


  2. !ืžืกื›ื™ืžื” ืžืื•ื“
    ืงื• ื—ืฉื™ื‘ื” ืžื ื—ื ื•ืžืขื•ื“ื“..ืžืืคืฉืจ ืชืงื•ื•ื” ื•ื”ืชืคืชื—ื•ืช..

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    • Thank you, Rochelle! The Hebrew comment was on the realities of self-sabotage as a means for survival defenses, to which I’d replied that while that can happen when there is no insight (which indeed can lead into bad spots), there may sometimes be opportunities to correct course and find a path into healing that does not involve harm to self or others.
      It seems that his uncle’s words sank in enough for him to make changes that allowed him peace of mind. Perhaps his uncle’s choices to take leave of the rush for material things had left him a pariah, or perhaps it was other’s misunderstanding of his choices as somehow selfish (or at the very least, not what others wanted their kids to emulate?) … but it seems he had found a measure of peace, which is more than many can say they had in their lives.
      Glad you liked this!

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    • Thank you, Joy.
      Yes, it would’ve been easier, perhaps, if he’d learned this sooner. Though perhaps he wasn’t ready, and perhaps this was the exact right time to learn it, or accept it, or let it in … And … I hold hope that some bridges can be rebuilt, sometimes stronger and more secure than they were before. So who knows …

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      • Sometimes people change enough that they’re worth being friends with again, and sometimes they’ve just hurt people they cared about too much. Sounds like this fellow erred too hard on the second side too many times. But maybe he can regain his own sanity and peace, at least.

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      • Yes, that’s true. Not all bridges could (or should) be mended. Sometimes people have been hurt too much, and sometimes moving on is the better way of handling the wounding. I hope he finds a way to peace, and I hope that he finds a way to burning no more bridges. Great comment!

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