Essay — Blissful

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Earlier this week, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile. When I asked how everything was going, she told me she was blissfully happy.

Joy

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Her words made me wonder exactly what she meant. Was she feeling ecstatic, exhilarated and freaked out all at the same moment? Was she extremely joyful as if she’d won Powerball and wanted to shout—oh, boy, hot diggety, out of sight, awesome and whoopee! Or was she simply pleased as Punch, tickled pink or happy as a clam in high water.

Probably those cloud nine phrases are subject to interpretation and are different for everyone.

For me, blissfully happy moments occur whenever I’m working on a story with my writing partner, spending a day at the beach, playing Bunco or Hand and Foot, visiting family, sharing a sunset with someone I’ve known for years, listening to rain on the roof, and reading a good book.

I should also include eating two scoops of Carpenter Country’s homemade Pistachio ice cream and enjoying a large hot fudge sundae on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. Of course, absolute bliss would be doing both on the same day.

And if that adds up to 3,000 calories, don’t tell me.

There are times when I’d rather be blissfully ignorant.

***

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