I had another epiphany related to my "My Funny Valentine" moment. It is this:
Doing what you love produces joy and joy makes the hard times easier to endure.
The night I went with my friend to the jam session, I got home every late. Who knew it was daylight savings time? I had a speaking gig the next morning and as I was tightening up my presentation, my computer crashed. I ended up staying up all night doing a total rewrite. The following morning I did my presentation exhausted and a little hyper. I knew it wasn't my best, but I still managed to get some good feedback.
Directly after my presentation, my 6 year old son had a severe, inexplicable asthma attack. It has never happened before and although we are taking every precaution, I have the sense that it will not happen again. But that is another story. Naturally, we had to race him to the hospital where he was treated for almost 7 hours. It was a hard, hard day - but when I went to sleep late that night after having been up for about 36 hours, I was still happy. My son was fine, but I knew he would be when he called his ER Dr. over to his bedside and demanded an x-ray for his arm that fluctuated between being paralyzed and broken. He then told the whole family that he had tricked not just "mama" but the ER Dr. into believing that he had a broken arm. Quentin made even the ER fun.
That night as my overly exerted and hyper body tried its best to wind down, the memory of singing "My Funny Valentine" suddenly overtook all the tension and anxiety. I settled into what I can only call a calming joy. It is the joy that happens when your mind is racing with all the worries and anxiety and suddenly you relive a moment that causes you to smile. That one memory or moment just makes everything else - not easy by any means - but tolerable.
It's so hard to have fun and do what you love when you have a family, a home, a job and only 24 hours to the day. Not only do we deserve to do what we love and have fun, we need it. I realized it the day of Q's asthma attack. Thank God the night before was so special to me, because I really think I would have wearied in the well-doing if I didn't have that soft moment to buffer the difficulty.