Happiness Only Real When Shared


I’ve typically been a bit of a private person, and hesitant to share my deepest and darkest with the world, but a couple recent developments have inspired me to go public.

A co-worker of mine told me a story about his trip to Rome on a school trip. He was studying medieval history, and on a day off he went to the colosseum by himself; no friends, no camera. He said those were his favourite moments of the trip. My initial reaction was akin to the proverbial tree-fall: if you go to the colosseum and have nothing to prove it, did it even really happen?
Silly, I know. But still, I thought: when that memory fades, what will help you keep it? Like Jack, existing only in Rose’s memory as there was of course no record of him on the ship. If it’s only in one memory, is it even real?

Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it is. But it made me pause to think of it. And it reminded me of a stolen line from another individual who left home to live alone  and have adventures (albeit in a FAR more dramatic fashion):

Happiness only real when shared.  (Chris McCandless aka Alexander Supertramp).

(yes, he paraphrased from dr. zhivago) 

With all due respect to alone time and solitary experiences, there is arguably value in the sharing. And given that my email updates have received some positive feedback (thank you, this blog is your fault) I figured I could ratchet it up a notch. 

Ultimately, this will let me keep my memories, and make them real. 
It will also let me share them with you, which is apparently important. 
And maybe you will even read something interesting or useful  – be it a selective history of Mennonites, or a change-your-life reading list, or a link to another, better blog…

 As to the title; if I'm going to be writing these letters home, so to speak, I'm going to name them after one such classic.